Trinity
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: With her career on the slide, one time Hollywood darling Rohan McKeehan can't seem to catch a break. Until she meets Randy Orton and learns the true meaning of success, power, greed, and corruption. Darker than the usual QoK fare, but so much more fun!
1. The Missing Piece

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 1: '_The Missing Piece'

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**A/N: **There are a couple of things that most people know about me. 1.) I'm heavily inspired by photographs, and 2.) There's nothing I love more than a really good villain. 

Something about seeing this year's No Mercy poster, the one with Randy holding the dove, this story just kind of exploded in my mind. It's different for me, in that there are no actual 'good' guys. In developing the story, and in writing the first few chapters I have discovered that there is truth to the idea that bad guys have more fun. Even though I'm kinda nervous about how this will be received, I'm having so much fun creating this dark and sinister world. I hope you enjoy reading it.

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The bar was secluded and small. Most would describe it a dive. Not at all the place for an A-list celebrity, with its dim lighting and smoky atmosphere, but it was perfect for her. Away from the scene, from the cameras and the watching eyes. Away from the people who used to know her name. Used to give a shit if she was there or not. Here, nobody knew her, and she didn't want them to. Here, she could be alone with her self-pity, wallowing in a dry martini and the sounds of nineties grunge rock. 

Rohan McKeehan dropped to the stool at the end of the bar and rested her elbows on the lacquered surface before her. She placed her order with the bartender and leaned forward, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she held her forehead in her palms, a chestnut curtain to hide her from the outside world.

Not that the world was watching. Not anymore. Irrelevant. That's what they called her. _'Cutesy and idyllic, this film is nothing more than a fun, fluffy, feel-good movie. While its marketability is undeniable, it is impossible not to question Rohan McKeehan's interest in such a vapid concept. Once a shining force on the screen, evoking an emotional and social awareness with each pitch-perfect performance, McKeehan's recent projects have proven her just another Hollywood sell-out, irrelevant to an already anemic genre of important, must-see films.'_

She could no longer deny that the numbers were fading. She just didn't open a film like she used to. Her name used to be enough to put asses in the seats, but not anymore. She had fallen prey to every Tinsletown cliché, and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

She still approached every project with the same system, creating films that appealed to her, following her gut instincts. She was well-aware that not everyone would like every project, but she did. She loved every job she had ever taken, and she was proud of them. The same actress she had always been, Rohan struggled to wrap her head around the fact that people just seemed to be losing interest in her talent. And as the fans lost their desire to see her on the screen, directors and producers lost the fire to passionately pursue her as their heroine, their star.

"This seat taken?" a deep voice interrupted her mental musings.

Shaking her head, Rohan lifted the skewer from her martini and popped the olive into her mouth. "Nope," she answered before chewing it and washing it down with another healthy sip.

"May I?" the tall, dark, and handsome stranger asked, lowering himself to the stool when she nodded toward it. "You got a name?" he asked easily, motioning for the bartender to bring another round.

His blue eyes seemed to glow against the darkness of the room and Rohan found herself lost in them inexplicably. Twelve years in the industry had taught her that no one was as they seemed and that even the most polite conversation could not be trusted. "Doesn't everyone?" she asked with a coy grin, her eyes twinkling with the amusement of shooting this over-confident Abercrombie model down.

With a slight nod, he lifted the fresh tumbler to his lips and smirked around the cool glass. "Touché," he conceded, leaning forward and resting his elbows against the bar as she straightened her posture and took another drink. She would play hard-to-get - they always did - but if there was one thing Randy Orton knew, it was how to bring a woman out of her defensive shell. While he hadn't requested crystal blue eyes, pouty lips, and broad shoulders, he wasn't above using them to his every advantage.

His pedigree, good looks, and inherent ability had allowed him to ascend the ranks of professional wrestling with ease, and afforded him a rock star lifestyle, without the insane, mainstream attention that would make leaving his house impossible. It had been more than enough for awhile. A blessing, some of his co-workers would call their lives. But try as he might, Randy just couldn't believe that anymore. It wasn't enough. There had to be more.

He had the confidence, and he was establishing the connections. All he needed was the opportunity. And if his mentor, Triple H, had taught him anything, it was that doors don't always just open. Sometimes you have to kick 'em in. Fate and destiny were concepts he breathed like air on television every week, but they were fairy tale bull shit. Something that people believed in to get them out of making their own luck. Randy was tired of waiting for his break to find him. It was time to make it happen.

"So that's it?" Rohan interrupted his thoughts when the bartender brought her a second drink. "You're not even gonna ask?" She watched with unchecked curiosity when Randy lifted his head and turned his eyes to her face, smiling slightly as he licked his lips. "You have the balls to walk over here and have a seat, but not to ask my name?"

Though Rohan wasn't sure why she felt compelled to push him when all she really wanted was to be alone, she couldn't stop the questions from tumbling over her lips. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way his cologne wafted above the smoke in the air. Maybe it was just the fact that she was tired of being overlooked, of being given up on, of being washed up and tossed aside. She wouldn't beg for his attention, but she wouldn't let him get away easily, either.

Randy turned on his stool and looked over the tiny room. A group of blonde co-eds sat in the corner, watching him from the corner of their eyes as they pretended to carry on a conversation together. The one closest to the bar met his eye and then blushed and giggled loudly before tucking a strand of her golden locks behind her ear. "Maybe I don't care," he finally answered Rohan, chuckling inwardly when she huffed incredulously. "I could walk over there," he motioned to the girls, "and not even have to ask. I could spend five minutes at that table and walk away with names, phone numbers, and an apartment key." He took another drink and winked at the blonde for effect.

Before she could stop herself, Rohan felt her eyes rolling. "Jesus," she scoffed, running her finger around the lip of her glass. "I think we both know that's a HUGE pile of shit." He seemed intrigued by her statement, but said nothing as he turned his body back toward her, his knee bumping against her, sending a bolt of electricity up Rohan's spine. When he didn't go on, she gulped the rest of her martini and raked her fingers through her hair. "Guys don't want the easy lay anymore. They want the challenge. To feel like they've accomplished something when they get in a girl's pants. It's all about the chase."

"You read that in some book?" Randy chuckled, moving his leg slightly to brush against her skin again. Her denim miniskirt was riding higher as he nudged her, and he allowed his eyes to fixate on the creamy expanse of her outer thigh as he spoke. "It's the oldest cliché in the book, Sweetheart. Guys like the chase," he mocked, allowing a genuine laugh to escape his throat. "Ya know who started that shit? Somebody's mom, like, a hundred years ago. Or her dad. Probably her dad," he added sarcastically. "A way to keep their little girl's panties on. Make 'em think they'll get respect or some shit."

She wasn't sure if he was trying to posture for her, or if this guy was truly an asshole, but Rohan was done playing his game. It had been fun for a moment, something to distract her from the other garbage going on in her life. But his confidence had given way to a vile arrogance, and she knew she wouldn't be able to stomach him and another drink if she stayed.

Standing from her seat, she ignored the fact that she could still feel echo of his jeans against her bare flesh. After she covered her tab, she shouldered her bag and shook her head. "Thanks for making my horrible day that much more degrading," she nodded with a sardonic smile, her eyes narrowing when he returned the grin. "Have fun with the blonde squad over there."

Randy watched as she walked away, shaking his head slowly. He'd psyched himself up for a marathon session, for taking his time and savoring the feeling of breaking her down. Rohan McKeehan had almost made it too easy. Lifting his glass to his lips again, he drained the last of the amber liquid, letting it burn down his throat before dropping it to the bar and turning to the man who had just slid into the seat his former companion had abandoned.

"So that's her?" the man asked, his rumbling timber dangerously low.

Randy nodded and met the green eyes of his friend. "That's the one," he assured the older man. None of the fans who ever saw them together could understand why the hell Randy Orton had gone from hanging out with John Cena and Edge to the Undertaker, but he couldn't give a fuck less if they got it or not. They didn't need to understand the bond. Taker and Randy knew what was up. That was enough.

Turning his head back toward the door, Taker chuckled from somewhere deep inside his broad chest. "Not gonna be easy, ya know?" Randy just rolled his shoulders and stood, taking his car keys from his pocket. Taker led the way out the back entrance of the bar and inhaled the smog-thickened Los Angeles air deeply. "You think this is gonna impress him?"

With a nod, Randy exhaled a long breath, his eyes focused on the black Hummer awaiting them. He was so close. Everything he wanted, everything he had planned for, everything he had dreamed of, was almost within his grasp. Rohan McKeehan was the last piece. She would complete the puzzle of fate he had created for himself. Rattling his keys, Randy bit his lip one last time and then nodded his head definitively. "It has to."


	2. A Cautionary Tale

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 2: _'A Cautionary Tale'

**A/N: **I am posting this chapter this morning, and the one directly after it, I will probably post later this afternoon. I'm so excited to get this story out, but I don't wanna post five chapters at a time. Enjoy!

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_Cautionary tale (n)_: _Disastrous life lesson, shared in the hope of saving others from similar fate. _Rohan had been a student of the cautionary tale for as long as she could remember, since long before she left home to pursue her career. She was determined, even at a young age, to make sure she avoided the pitfalls of Hollywood and emerged a shining star, not a fallen one. She knew all of the rules, memorized them, and followed them. She was supposed to be safe.

**Rule #1: Image is everything. **

Though she wasn't sure she always agreed with the rules, she knew that she had to play by them in order to be successful. For that reason, she never left her house looking like a bag lady, and she never drank alcohol at industry parties. She was NOT going to be the sloppy, hobo-wannabe who 'sure cleans up nice' for premiers, or the sloppy, drunken party girl who 'could be so successful, if she could just learn to control herself in public.'

Her dark eyes skimmed her e-mails over the top of her morning coffee mug, her skin beginning to tingle beneath the warmth of the bright rays breaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows in her home office. _'Ro, just wondered if you wanted to make a statement about this whole wrestler story. Fans are blowin' up the message boards this morning. Can't get a hold of Gil. Just let me know. Stan.' _With a curious arch of her eyebrow, Rohan clicked the link. Stan was her web designer and master. He never e-mailed her directly, always went to her agent.

_"Could Rohan McKeehan be off the market again? George Clooney's one-time flame was spotted by paparazzi last night sharing a drink with a mysterious stranger. The man has been identified as controversial professional wrestler, Randy Orton. While the indie princess's reps would neither confirm, or deny, a relationship between the two, I'm thinking there must be a reason that this unconventional duo would want to hide in a dive in downtown LA, instead of flaunting at one of the clubs in Hollywood."_

Shock rippled through her body as Rohan read the article two more times, her eyes focused on the photo attached to the article. That asshole from the bar was leaned toward her, his finger brushing against her bare thigh as she smiled back mirthfully. There were so many factual inaccuracies, she wasn't sure she could begin to count them all, but that wasn't the issue for her. She could care less if a gossip and rumor site reported incorrectly on her personal life. Hell, they'd been doing it for years. The only thing she could do was carry herself well, and trust that the people around her would take care of damage control with the press.

Except that, according to this article, her 'reps' could neither confirm, nor deny, the relationship. Why couldn't they? They knew, better than anyone, that Rohan wasn't one for hiding her personal life from the people around her. Her agent and her publicist always knew when she was seeing someone new - she always told them, expressly for moments like this one. She let them in so that they could protect her from situations just like this.

**Rule #2: Trust no one.**

She wasn't an overtly trusting person by nature, so following the second cautionary rule wasn't difficult for Rohan. Actually, trusting anyone was harder for her than not. Vultures circled the successful, wanting nothing more than to feast on the spoils of the wars that their clients were fighting for the world's attention. She only gave interviews to the people whose journalistic integrity she valued. Sometimes she was viewed as cold toward the media, but she didn't care. Ice Queen was a better title than anything else they could twist if she actually spoke.

If she was cautious around the press, she was twice as guarded about the people she hired. She had researched her team extensively before hiring them, gaining references from some of the best in the business before allowing them into her inner circle. And even after she had hired them, it took her years to truly trust them with her personal information.

Grabbing her phone from the desk at her side, she dialed Gil Rayburn's number and waited for him to answer. He didn't have to give an answer to anyone else, but he was going to answer her. Why wouldn't he deny something he knew wasn't true? While Rohan knew it wasn't a career-ending scandal, she was bothered by the fact that Gil wasn't speaking, and wasn't answering his cell phone. He hadn't been answering his phone for two weeks.

When his voice mail picked up, she sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, turning away from the computer screen before she could throw up. "Gil, it's Rohan. Um, can you give me a call back ASAP. I've got some questions about this TMZ thing, and also about the Spielberg project. Thanks." Tossing the phone onto the desk, she stood and made her way to the window.

**Rule #3: Fame is fleeting.**

Even without confirmation from Gil, she was fairly certain she knew what he was going to tell her. She had studied the tales, remember? She knew that an agent only stopped calling when the offers had dried up. Sure, she had two films coming out in the next six months. Sure, she had one in post-production, and another set to start filming in a few weeks. She wasn't a boil on the ass of the industry or anything. But she also wasn't courting multiple, Oscar-worthy projects, either. And she wasn't turning big-budget films into blockbusters. Times had changed, and her ability was in question. The handwriting was on the wall, she feared.

Staring at the glistening water of the Pacific Ocean from her balcony, she held her mug tighter, willing the shaking in her thin fingers to subside. She would not break. She wouldn't let them defeat her. It was a slump, nothing more. Resurgence was more-than-possible. She could come back. One good project and she was back on top. There was no need to panic. No need to worry or fret. They hadn't forgotten her completely. They just needed to be reminded of what she brought to the table.

The ringing of the telephone caused Rohan to jump and she sprinted into the office and grabbed the phone. "Gil," she spoke a little more enthusiastically than she had intended. Her mental pep talk had encouraged her to the point of optimism. If she could convey that to Gil, everything would be fine. She would be fine. They would love her again. They had to. "Thanks for returning my call," she added.

"Yeah, I gotta make this quick, Sweetheart," Gil's gruff voice snapped over the line. "The Spielberg thing is out. He went with some new chick I've never heard of." He began to say something and then stopped short. "Hold on, Rohan. Gotta take this call. Gimme five."

The phone went dead and Rohan kicked the edge of the desk. Fuck. Some new chick. There were always new actresses ascending the ranks, trying to take her spot. Some of them were really talented. Some of them were more commercial than she was. But while she couldn't prove it, Rohan was pretty sure none of them had more heart than she did. Sure, some of them probably wanted it as bad as she did, but none of them wanted it more. They couldn't.

Sucking as much air as she could into her lungs, Rohan fought the tears building behind her eyes and moved through her office and into the hallway. She was a good person. At least, she thought she was. She didn't deserve to be cast aside like she had nothing more to say, nothing more to give. She didn't deserve to be overlooked, considered past her prime. She still had stories left to tell. They couldn't just ignore her and make her go away. She wouldn't let them.

Before she could scream in frustration, the line clicked back over. "Rohan, baby," Gil's voice broke in. "So here's the thing . . . That three-picture deal you signed with Universal is done. You know that. The one we were working on with Sony fell through. I tried to talk to my guy at Fox Searchlight, but they're not interested right now, in anything other than indie girls." There was a sigh and Gil mumbled something to someone off the phone. "I been talkin' to Kirby, and we're thinking," he started again, abruptly enough to make Rohan jump, "that you might be in need of a revamp."

Rohan licked her lips and nodded. It wasn't that she believed she needed to be revamped. In her mind, she was as relevant as she had ever been. But if this is what it took to get people back on her side, to get scripts onto her desk, she was willing. Nothing extreme, of course, but subtle changes. They were professionals. They were looking out for her best interests. All she had to do was follow their direction and she would be back on top, shopping for Oscar dresses once again. "So what do we do?"

He chuckled. A brief, cynical laugh of sarcasm. "We think that you need to do this one on your own, Kiddo," he said, his voice condescending. "Think about it, Ro, baby. You won your first Golden Globe with no representation. Those first films you did? Brilliant. And you had nobody to credit but yourself. You were the master of your own fate. You were the captain of your destiny. You are an independent," he spoke as a motivational speaker, his voice rising in excitement. "You are at your absolute best when you're doing things your own way."

Except that Rohan knew that voice. It wasn't motivational at all. It was 'I'm trying to make you think that I want the best for you so you don't sue my ass for breach of contract when I drop you in about two minutes.' "On my own," she dead-panned as her eyes fixated on a modest Saturn parked in front of her apartment. "You're dropping me."

The cynicism turned to apprehension. "Don't make it sound so ugly, Ro. This isn't a door closing for you. It's a bigger, brighter door opening."

"Whatever," she muttered, clicking the phone shut. Without thought, she heaved it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. The pieces tumbled to the floor as dropped to her knees and held her forehead in her hands. That was it.

Seven years earlier, Gil had promised her that any role she wanted would be laid at her feet. All she had to do was name a director, and she would be the first name on the top of his wish list. She could do anything. Conquer anything. It hadn't been the promises that drew her in. She wasn't naive enough to believe that he could do everything he said he could. But it was the way that he spoke, like he believed in her dream, believed she could be anything that she set her mind to being. Like a father to his starry-eyed little girl, Gil had given her hope that she could have the one thing she'd always longed for - longevity as an actress.

And like a disillusioned child, she let the tears fall over her cheeks when she realized that her father-figure had turned his back on her. He had used her until she no longer benefited him, and then he dropped her on her ass, without so much as an 'are you going to be alright?' There had been a time when he had been her cheerleader when she wanted to give up. And now he had given up on her. And she had no idea how to prove him wrong.

**Rule #4: Enjoy the ride. You never know when it will end.**


	3. Buying the Hype

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 3: _Buying the Hype

**A/N: I know I should hold off and not post two chapters at one time - but one was this morning and this one is in the afternoon. That counts for something, right? I'm just so excited and I love this story so much that I can't help it. Gah! Enjoy!**

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"Alright, man, this is it. Tonight's the night." 

Randy Orton cracked his neck and stared at the rough facade of the bar through the rain-streaked windshield of his Hummer. A smug smirk played on the corners of his lips. This was it. Tonight was the night. The night that he stopped playing games, stopped falling victim. Tonight, he became captain of his own destiny. Tonight, he made her his ace in the hold. Tonight, he reaped the rewards of the most brilliant plan he could possibly conceive.

Leaning forward in his seat, he lowered the volume on the stereo and shot Taker a knowing smile. "This is it," he repeated. "Wish me," stopping, he shook his head and laughed. "Never mind. Luck ain't got shit to do with it."

A rare grin tweaked the older man's mouth as he held a fist out and knocked it against the one Randy was offering. "Brilliant plan or not, you got until midnight. After that, I'm stealin' your car and leavin' your sorry ass here," he warned.

Gripping the door handle, Randy took a deep breath and pushed out of the truck. He wasn't nervous about talking to Rohan again. Hell, the press was doing his job for him. He was already up in her head. All he had to do was show her that she could open up to him and escort her from the bar. That was the easy part. Once he delivered her to the club, that's when the tight rope walk began. That's when the variables came into play.

But he couldn't think about that. Not now. Not when he was so close. Not when he heard the bell sound over the door, and saw Joey, the bartender, wave at him cordially. All eyes were on him. All but hers. All but the ones he needed. Taking her in, Randy couldn't help the rumbling in his stomach. So close. She leaned on the bar, her strapless dress showing just enough skin to be tantalizing, but not nearly enough to be trashy. Shit, she was perfect. She was the perfect piece to complete the puzzle. The plan. His destiny.

The sag in her shoulders said that it had been a bad day, but Randy could barely contain the girlish giggle threatening to spill over his lips. She was going to make it easier than he thought. God, it was good to be Randy Orton sometimes. "Hey," he greeted softly.

Rohan turned her head, rolling her eyes as she sat up a little straighter. "What are you, some kinda predator?" she spat. "Do you ever quit being a stalker?" As if it hadn't been a long enough day. She had to run into him. The wrestler. The asshole. Her _boyfriend_.

"I don't know," Randy shrugged, accepting the beer bottle from Joey. "You ever stop bein' a frigid bitch?" Part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carrying her out the front door. But that wouldn't exactly play into his plan very well.

The comment should have sent Rohan over the edge, but the smirk on Randy's full lips told her that he found her distant attitude harmless. He was amused by her. And something about the warmth of that smile ebbed her anger. It was inexplicable, for sure. Maybe _I'm just too tired to be pissed_, she thought as she nodded in concession. "Fair enough."

And with those words, Randy allowed himself to relax. _Like takin' candy from a baby_. "What are you drinkin'?" When she told him 'bourbon,' he told Joey to put it on his bill and keep 'em coming. "So, I was kinda hopin' you'd be here tonight," he admitted as shyly as he possibly could. It was a foreign concept to him, being coy, but he had learned over time that there were few emotions and actions he couldn't fake when the moment called for it.

"Why's that?" Rohan asked as she turned toward him on the stool, well-aware that her boot-covered foot was brushing against his jeans. "Couldn't get enough abuse the last time?" Shit, he was good looking. The blue eyes, the perfect cheek bones, the suckable lips. His shoulders were broad and the biceps peeking out from his black tee shirt could only be described as 'bulging.' Maybe it wasn't so bad to accept a little bit of attention from a hottie. Maybe he could help take the edge of off the last couple of days.

If Rohan was impressed with his appearance, Randy was blown away by hers. Her big eyes, perfect nose, and full lips that turned up in the corners, giving her the illusion of a smile, even when she was trying to frown. Her dark hair rested in waves against her sculpted, bare shoulders. The tiny diamonds dangling from her ears hypnotized him for a moment, and he allowed his eyes to drift back to hers lazily, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was checking her out. "Just wanted to let you know I had nothing to do with the way shit's been blowin' up out there," he explained, his gaze fluttering back to her lips.

She didn't want to blush, but Rohan couldn't fight it as he continued to watch her mouth and her neck. "So, what's your story, Randy Orton?" she asked around the rising lump in her throat.

"I'd rather hear your story, Rohan McKeehan," he baited. Lifting his drink to his lips again, Randy's eyes never left the woman at his side. _Midnight_, he thought sardonically. _I'll have her outta here in fifteen minutes. _

With a sigh, Rohan tilted her body back toward the bar and rested her elbows against the counter. "Not much to tell," she started, shaking her head. If she told this guy about her recent troubles, would she seem like a charity case? Poor little actress on the downslide? Would she become a pity fuck? Did it matter with him? "I bought the hype," she answered without further prodding. All things considered, it felt good to be able to unburden her soul to someone who didn't know her, who didn't think they knew everything already.

Randy mimicked her stance, leaning on his elbows and turning his face toward her. His eyes dropped to the top of the bar, focusing on the speckled pattern. If he wasn't careful, he would allow his physical attraction to dictate his actions. If he couldn't stop staring at her, he was going to be the creepy, stalker guy again. He couldn't afford that. Not now.

When he said nothing, Rohan began to speak to his fingers, fixated on the way they peeled the label from the bottle of Sam Adams resting on the bar between them. "Couple of years ago, I was on top of the fuckin' world, ya know? I was makin' movies I wanted to make, whatever I wanted to do. Didn't fuckin' care what the trades said about it. As long as I could entertain myself and my friends, and I believed in the story I was trying to tell, I was happy.

"Of course, I wanted people to like it. Everybody wants to be liked, but it wasn't my end goal. I was actually kinda blown away by the fact that people liked me. Not just my work, but they wanted to know about me. It's this totally weird, surreal thing." Shaking her head, she risked a look at her companion, only to find his brow knitted as he studied the bar and nodded in agreement. Something told her that he understood where she was coming from. "And then the first film came out, and critics loved it. They don't like anybody, but they liked me," she chuckled cynically.

Clearing his throat, Randy met her eyes. He'd known critical acclaim. To the insiders of his profession, he was talented beyond belief, even when the fans didn't see it. To them, he was always fuckin' up opportunities, pissin' away his career, doin' everything wrong. They thought they knew. And then, without warning, the tide turned. He was in a program with Edge, and he was working hard. He was doing everything he was supposed to do. He was a damn good heel, the asshole they all loved to hate. "You start to feel invincible."

Swallowing another sip, Rohan sat up straighter, her hands folded in her lap. "I just wanted to take a vacation. A break. I had three Golden Globes and an Academy award. And I was wiped. I just wanted a little time off."

"You earned it," Randy encouraged, reaching over to cover her thigh with his palm.

Wordlessly, she watched as he squeezed her leg and then moved his hand to the back of her chair. "Time doesn't stop because you need a break," she shook her head, fighting the emotion that crept up. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about this whole situation ten thousand times. But she'd never explained it out loud. It hurt. Committing it to words felt like a stabbing ache in her chest. "It's that 'what have you done for me lately' mentality, ya know? And when you haven't done anything for a minute, people forget. Somebody else creeps in and takes your spot as the favorite." Sniffling, she forced a laugh. "Sometimes reputation isn't enough to carry you."

Though he wasn't sure what to say, Randy rested his hand against her back, his thumb caressing the warm skin just above her dress. Though he felt her chill bumps in reaction, he was the one with an electrical current charging through his arm. He could get her outta here by eleven, be at the club by eleven thirty, transaction complete by midnight, and be back at her place by twelve thirty. He could be gettin' laid by one. Give him a few hours before he had to leave town. That could work. "Been there," he mumbled, trying to think of anything that would calm the jump in his pants.

Rohan noted his lidded eyes and thought quickly. It was only ten forty-five. She could get him outta here by eleven and back to her apartment well-before midnight. She could be naked and half-way to Happyland by twelve thirty. God, it had been so long since she'd even entertained the thought of a man in her bed. But why not? The media already thought they were having some illicit affair. Give 'em enough to talk about and her stock just might start rising again. "How'd you get back on top?" she asked distractedly, her hand sliding over his thigh of it's own volition.

Randy covered her hand with his and urged her higher. "Opportunity presented itself," he spoke pointedly, tipping the last of his glass to his lips. "Come with me," he commanded, grasping her fingers in his as he tossed a few bills on the counter and offered Joey a wave.

She followed him wordlessly to the door and then stopped short as the fresh night air smacked her in the face. "Wait," she gasped, shaking her head. What was she thinking? She didn't even know this guy. Until a few minutes ago, she thought he was an ass. Now she was going to take him home? Or let him take her home with him? What? Was she so sick of this career bull shit that she was willing to let him chop her up in little pieces and store her in a box under bed? _Stupid, Rohan. Stupid_. "I can't," she told him when he turned curious eyes to her. "I have a meeting in the morning," she stumbled through an excuse. "With an agent." It wasn't like she had ever needed a reason to blow a guy off before. Why this one?

Rolling his eyes, Randy ran his hand over his gelled hair. "And I know the perfect guy to help you out," he winked, nodding toward his vehicle. "He hangs at this club over on Sunset."

Rohan watched in amazement as a giant of a man stepped out of the Hummer and held the back door open for her. "Who's that?" she asked, fear building in her gut. She was so close to ending up in a body bag. Shit.

"That's just Mark," Randy sighed in frustration, moving to his friend and taking the keys from his friend. "He's a friend." When Rohan went pale, looking like she might throw up on the sidewalk, he pocketed the keys and moved back to her side. "Look, I know he's intimidating, but he's a good guy. I promise. Like me."

Doubt still nagged at the back of her mind, but his goofy smirk made her laugh in spite of herself. "Jury's still out on that one," she shot, her hand reaching for his arm flirtatiously. "Look, it's nice of you to try to hook me up and all, but I'm not lookin' for a wrestling agent." She hoped she didn't sound too condescending, but she wasn't entirely convinced that this guy was going to be able to help her out. With anything other than the growing warmth in her belly.

He would have been frustrated, if they weren't so close to the car. She was not coming this far to back out on him. No fucking way. He needed her. She was essential. She was getting her ass in the car, one way or another. "Okay," he held his hands up defensively, his keys dangling against his palm. "Just meet my guy, give him five minutes. If you're not sold, I'll bring you back for your car. Promise."

There were so many reason not to leave a bar with a guy that she'd just met. So many intelligent reasons to just get in her car and head home. So why was she getting into the back of his enormous Hummer? Why was she following like a lamb to the slaughter? Why was she holding her breath as he and his enormous friend got into the front seats and pulled out of the parking lot? Why was she not calling someone to rescue her from her own stupidity?

As Randy eased his car onto the freeway, he risked a glance at Mark from the corner of his eye. The big man was staring straight ahead, but his lips twitched when he noticed Randy looking his way. The big man's shoulders shrugged ever-so-slightly, as if to say 'it's that easy.' Moving his eyes to the rear view, Randy noticed Rohan nibbling on her lip. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked softly. The last thing he needed was for to freak out now. Not this close. Not when he could already taste victory.

Rowan shook her head and averted her eyes to the speedily passing scenery, her fingers fidgeting nimbly with one of her curls. "Just not sure this is a good idea," she answered honestly. What the hell did it matter? If he was going to kill her, he already had her in his car. It wasn't like she would ever over-power him. And if he wasn't intending to hurt her, he would understand her apprehension.

With a confident nod, Randy leaned forward and cranked the volume on his stereo, nodding his head with the heavy drum beat. Raising his eyebrow, he met her eye in the mirror and smiled slyly until she returned the expression. This was it. "You will be," he assured her easily. Fuck, this was it.


	4. The Inside Track

**A/N: I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing this story. When I say that I've hit a slump recently, a total self-confidence blow, I'm not kidding. But this story has reminded me what it means to have fun with a story. I love all of the characters, no matter how deliciously evil they turn out to be, and I hope you do, too!**

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 4: _The Inside Track

* * *

During the drive to the club, Mark and Randy had been loose and jovial. They had joked with each other and with Rohan, until she began to feel her guard dropping.

And then they had stopped the car in front of the club. Not just any club. _Trinity_. Let the media tell it and the club scene in Hollywood was dominated by Fortune 500 heirs and heiresses, and twenty-something pop stars who wanted to be seen. Those clubs were really nothing more than barrels containing the sloppy drunk fishes who had no idea they were about to be picked off by the waiting hooks of the tabloid cameras.

But anybody with any inkling of how things worked knew that _Trinity_ was the real 'it' club. It transcended A-list. Its nightly guest-list was legendary. It took more than an award or two to get an invite. It took more than a twenty-million per film paycheck. It took more than a few pages of Supermarket rag attention. Getting into Trinity was next to impossible unless you knew someone who knew someone whose grandmother knew someone back in the day. Even at her peak, at her most respected as a critical darling, Rohan had never seen the inside of _Trinity_.

But Randy handed his keys to the awaiting valet and wove his fingers through hers, following Mark as the three walked past the line of wannabe's, begging and bribing for entrance. Mark shook hands and exchanged a shoulder-bumping hug with the bouncer as the man lifted the velvet rope and shook Randy's hand, as well. Squaring their shoulders, the men created a wall of protection around Rohan as they entered a sea of recognizable faces on the dance floor.

Though it had a reputation for being the most upscale of all establishments, _Trinity_ was bathed in dim lighting, the only real illumination coming from crisscrossing white lights that barely skimmed the tops of the crowd and then rose toward the ceiling again. The second floor, undoubtedly the VIP area, stretched high above them. Rohan found herself surprised that the illusive club was really no different than any other one she'd frequented in Los Angeles or New York. At least, the atmosphere was similar. Reputation aside, the clientele was the only thing that set this place apart from all of its contemporaries.

Only one difference, but it was impressive. She'd worked with a lot of big names, but Rohan had to fight not to look like a star-struck kid as she saw studio heads, directors, and actors bumping and grinding to a heavy hip hop beat with record producers and musicians. Athletes and supermodels mingled among them, and Rohan found herself shocked to find more than a couple politicians getting into the mix, as well.

The fact that all of these notable names, some of the most impressive in the world, were parting like the Red Sea for two professional wrestlers was not lost on Rohan. Though she plastered a smile on her face and waved at a few people who greeted her first, she tried to keep her head down. She was an Academy award winner and she didn't feel comfortable. How the fuck was Randy Orton treated as some kind of celebrity? These people knew celebrity, and as far as they were concerned, he wasn't it. At least, he shouldn't have been. But he sure as hell shook hands and exchanged high fives with them as though he were.

"Randy, what's going on?" Rohan asked through clenched teeth as they stepped off of the dance floor at the back of the club. It was the first time he had attempted to pull her to his side, and that was only to wrap a protective arm around her waist, as if telling everyone she was not to be bothered. She was with him. As if that mattered. When he didn't answer, she stopped walking, nearly causing a pile up when the people she hadn't even known were following tried to put on their brakes. One narrowed look from Randy's eyes sent the group scattering and Rohan cleared her throat, pulling on his hand until he bent his ear to her lips. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Without a word, Randy motioned for the step and rested a hand on the small of Rohan's back as she looked around nervously. People were watching them. A lot of people. But she noticed that none of them looked concerned. Intrigued. Curious. Almost awed. But not concerned. Shaking her head, she stepped onto the stairs leading to the second level, but continued hissing over her shoulder. "Where are we going?" she asked.

When they reached the top of the stairs, two steel doors were opened by men rivaling Mark's size. An echoing silence enveloped the couple as the men nodded their greetings toward Randy and then down the hallway stretching out to the right. "This is the elite, Rohan. You wanna be the best?" he asked, nearing another set of doors. "You gotta hook up with the best."

As the second set of doors opened, the previous beat of the club invaded once more, reverberating through Rohan's chest. Before she could speak, they stopped in front of a dark curtain, one that separated the VIP room from the "common" folks, she could only assume. Not that anyone in this fucking club could fall under that blanket. But just as she was about to demand another explanation, the curtain opened and a grinning couple stepped past them, heading out the door as quickly as they possibly could. "Was that?" Rohan started to ask.

But Randy put a finger over her lips and nodded. "It was," he acknowledged, as though he rubbed shoulders with Brad and Angelina every day. "You ready for this?"

Dumbfounded, Rohan shook her head. "No," she answered honestly, her eyes wide. "I have not been ready for anything since we left the bar. Especially not this. What the fuck is going on? How are YOU ready for this?" she shot, her voice hushed out of instinct. It didn't seem like the kind of place she should be yelling.

Smirking again, that knowing grin that said she was such a sweet, naive girl, Randy turned the blonde man next to the curtain. "He in?" he asked.

"Expecting you," the man, dressed all in black, complete with dress shirt, tie, and matching shades, answered, reaching for the curtain.

As they stepped through, Rohan could see the aerial view of the dance floor, the lights exposing things she never would have seen from the midst of the madness, almost as if it had been lit expressly for the watchful eye of whoever sat in this VIP section. Tearing her eyes from the view below, she found what appeared to be a posh bachelor pad.

Long, black couches were situated in a horseshoe shape around an etched glass-topped table. Pewter lamps flanked the longest couch, spilling just enough yellow light to make out the area. A bottle of champagne chilled in a decorative bucket on the table, surrounded by three half-filled glasses. A man reclined easily against the imported leather, one arm thrown easily around each of the women at his sides. One was blonde, the other brunette. The blonde wore pink, the brunette red. The man, if he could be considered a man, seemed oddly out of place in jeans and an untucked white dress shirt. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one.

"Now, just be yourself," Randy whispered as the man turned his head to whisper something into the giggling blonde's ear. She jumped up and ran toward the curtain. "He hates it when you try to act cooler than you are."

Rohan tightened her grip on Randy's hand, but found herself unable to speak as the man noticed them, seemingly for the first time. "Orton," he laughed, leaning forward and offering his hand.

Abandoning Rohan's side, Randy took the hand, nodded his head, and then lowered himself onto the couch on the left. "Good to see you, man," he said easily, leaning back on the sofa as the blonde returned with two more champagne glasses. Upon the young man's nodded command, the giggler lowered herself to the seat next to Randy, her hands on his thigh as he pushed her hair behind her ear and dropped a kiss on her cheek in greeting.

Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, Rohan wanted to demand someone tell her just what the hell was going on. With one hand on her hip, she turned toward the man on the couch and then stopped short when he smiled. "Rohan McKeehan. How are you, Sweetheart?" he asked, his demeanor warm and inviting, as though he owned the room and wanted her to feel right at home.

She did. Inexplicably. Without warning or premonition. Rohan felt her apprehension just melting away. Who was this guy? How was he doing that? It couldn't be something supernatural, could it? She had heard rumors that _Trinity_ maintained it's exclusivity through means 'otherworldly' but if you listened to rumors, most of Hollywood had been built by the hands of Satan himself. "How do you know my name?" she finally answered when she remembered that he had asked a question.

With an easy shrug, he plucked his drink from the table and settled back into his seat, his ankle resting casually against his opposite knee. "You're an Oscar winner," he acknowledged, smiling once again. "And a three-time Golden Globe winner, as well, if I'm not mistaken."

There was something in his tone that told Rohan he was not often mistaken. "I'm sorry," she finally managed to mutter when he moved his intense stare from her and back to the brunette on his left. "I don't mean to be rude," she disclaimed, unsure of why she was so afraid of upsetting this man. "But what was your name?"

The smile dropped from his lips and, for a brief moment, Rohan feared he was going to have her forcibly removed. She had never been one to be intimidated by anyone. Especially not agents, producers, and directors. They were there to help her professionally, but they didn't know her personally. They had no say over who she was, or how she felt about herself. There was no reason to feel so shaky now. She knew there was no reason, but she couldn't deny the insatiable desire for his approval.

"You didn't tell her?" he asked Randy, one of his eyebrows shooting up in question.

Tearing his gaze away from the blonde, who was practically dry-humping his thigh, Randy shrugged. "I figured she would know," he spoke as though it were obvious. As though nobody passed through that curtain without knowing his name, without fully understanding his importance.

In a move that defied his stature, but enhanced his appearance, the man rolled his eyes and stood, extending his right hand toward Rohan. "I'm sorry. I thought Orton told you. Forgive me," he apologized easily as he slid his hand over hers, wrapping her fingers in a glove of inviting warmth. "I'm Logan."

Rohan stared at him for a moment, her expression blank as she processed his introduction. And without warning, laughter burst from her lips. Hysterical laughter that could neither be quelled nor contained. Even after he had taken a step back, his head tilted to the side in wonder at her expression, she couldn't stop herself. Gasping for short breaths to regain her composure, Rohan sniffled and blotted a tear from the corner of her eye with the side of her index finger. "I'm sorry," she finally managed to blurt out. "I just," another fit of giggles poured over her lips as she surveyed the faces of everyone in the room.

None of them were laughing. Not Randy. Not the blonde or the brunette. And not the man who claimed to be . . . it was impossible. Inconceivable. But their expressions said that they all believed it. More than that, they knew it. And that knowledge sobered Rohan quickly. Okay, so Randy wasn't a rapist. He was just fucking crazy. With a hand on her hip, she looked at the man and squared her shoulders. "Bull shit."


	5. The Illusive Logan

**A/N: You guys are the best - I'm glad you're enjoying . . . now for those of you who were left wondering what kind of crack I was smoking in the last chapters, here are a few answers. And even more questions. Oh, the fun! Enjoy!**

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 5: _The Illusive Logan

* * *

In a city full of superstition and rumors, Logan was the pinnacle. Hushed whispers, the ones no one dared to speak aloud, alluded to the fact that he was responsible for Presidents taking office, for musicians rising to iconic status, and for actors enjoying long, full careers of importance and respect. If you believed the gossip, Logan got Clinton through the Lewinsky scandal, rocketed Eminem to his place atop the music community, and was responsible for the success of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Hell, if you listened to popular opinion, Logan was the master behind Kobe Bryant's acquittal, Nickleback's multi-platinum albums, and the ratings on The View. 

But it was also cautioned that, if one was afforded an audience with the most powerful man in the world, you had to remember that nothing was without a price. For all of the champagne wishes and caviar dreams that he granted, there were a handful of disasterous fools who had crossed him. Kurt Cobain's 'suicide.' Anna Nicole's 'over-dose.' Michael Jackson. Michael Vick. Lindsay Lohan. The latest word on the street was that Britney Spears had turned 'less-than-appreciative' of Logan's services in recent months.

But it was impossible. Nothing more than a crazy urban legend. And Rohan certainly didn't subscribe to urban legends. And even if she did, how was she supposed to believe that this guy was the one and only? This was the guy who inspired fear and awe in so many of Hollywood's elite? This was the illusive Logan? She almost laughed again.

He was barely six feet tall, with unruly hair and a lean, bordering on scrawny, build. While she couldn't deny he carried a certain air, something charming and confident, he certainly didn't look capable of holding the world in the palm of his hand. He barely looked old enough to shave. Logan was supposed to be larger than life - his reputation surely was. This guy? Hell, he was just a kid.

"Rohan," Randy's voice broke through her thoughts softly, but as he moved to stand, Logan just shook his head and motioned for Randy to sit.

Taking a step toward Rohan, he reached for her hand and smiled at her once again, the warm smile of invitation that had worked so effortlessly moments earlier. "Look in my eyes, Rohan," he said easily.

Shaking her head, Rohan met his gaze, determined to see through whatever bull shit spell he had placed these idiots under. "I'm sure you think you're," she started, stopping short when he rubbed his thumb against the palm of her hand. It wasn't creepy. It wasn't even hypnotic. It was just . . . comforting. Like coming home.

"Just tell him it's important," an insistent voice sounded from the other side of the curtain, snapping the magic of the moment.

But Logan only shook his head and tightened his grip on Rohan's hand as another voice sounded from outside. "Logan's in a meeting. You're gonna have to wait."

There was a huff and the scuffling sounds of a slight altercation. "It's a fucking emergency, idiot," the visitor growled, though he didn't sound at all intimidating to Rohan. Not with Logan holding her hand. "This shit can't wait."

The crack that followed turned Rohan's stomach, and she couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut as the man screamed in pain. Turning to Logan again, she felt her body leaning toward him as he gave her hand a brief squeeze. "What can I do for you, Rohan?" he asked, releasing her hand and motioning to the empty couch for her to sit when he returned to his place with the brunette.

Though she could hear Randy flirting with the blonde, and could hear her moaning and breathing heavier just a few feet away, she couldn't draw her eyes away from Logan. "Well, um," she stammered, unsure of how one approached an infamous legend. "Randy said you might be able to," she started and then stopped. Would Randy get in trouble for promising something on Logan's behalf? Did she care? "I need a new agent."

Nodding easily, Logan reached into his pocket and flicked a business card in her direction. "Be there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. He'll be expecting you."

"Jake Wildman?" Rohan read the name from the card in wonder. It was well-deserved. Jake Wildman was the premier agent for only the upper tier of the A-list. He was George's agent. Julia's. He was Meryl Streep's agent. Why in the hell would he work for her? Why would he look twice at her. "Are you serious?" she asked, her lips curled as she returned her attention to Logan.

He was watching her with all of the affection of a father seeing his daughter open gifts on Christmas morning. With a nod, he wedged his hand between the knees of the brunette, his eyes never leaving Rohan. "Always," he promised, lifting his champagne glass to his lips.

The overwhelming urge to hug him overcame her, but Rohan settled for pulling the card to her chest. "Thank you so much," she managed to bumble.

With a tilt of his head, Logan seemed to shrug it off. "Any friend of Orton's is a friend of mine," he shrugged, casting a glance at the guy to his right. "Vince talk to you yet?"

Though the blonde at his side was a fitting distraction while Logan dealt with Rohan, Randy couldn't really care less about what the dimwitted bimbo was whispering in his ear. Sure, on a normal night, she would be turning him on to no end. Hell, on a normal night, he would have her on the other side of the VIP with her knees at her ears. But this wasn't a normal night. This was THE night.

Shaking his head, Randy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as his new friend continued to rake her fingers over the back of his neck. "We have a meeting tomorrow afternoon," he answered. When Logan looked to Rohan and then back to Randy with a smile and a nod, Randy felt his heart rate accelerating. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for, planning for. "Like we planned?" he moved to the edge of the couch and twisted his fingers together, trying like hell to shake off the annoying pest near his ear.

Logan mimicked Randy's pose and nodded, draining his champagne glass. "Opportunity is ever-present, my friend," he advised cryptically.

Though she had no idea what was going on, she noticed that Randy was suddenly grinning like Logan had just promised him a new Playstation. He was licking his lips, completely ignoring the woman at his side. And without warning, he turned hungry eyes on her. "What?" she asked, sliding her feet, which she had tucked under her body, back to the floor.

He just winked and offered a hand to Logan once again. "Thanks, man," he sealed their unspoken deal and stood with the other man, whom Rohan noticed had yet to really sit still since they arrived. He wasn't nerve-wracking, nor did he appear anxious. He was just constantly working the room, attending to each of his guests as though they were the most important to him.

"I look forward to hearing how your meeting goes, Rohan," Logan turned his attention back to her as Randy approached her side. When she bristled at the taller man's touch, Logan gave her a reassuring smile. "Go easy on Orton," he nodded in Randy's direction. "He's a good guy."

"Told you," Randy winked, sticking the point of his tongue between his lips. When Rohan leaned into his hand on her back, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and checked his watch. Midnight. And his plan was right on schedule.

They moved toward the curtain before Logan called Randy's name again. When Randy turned, Logan rolled his eyes. "Tell 'em to send Federline in."

Randy did as he was told and then led Rohan through the halls and back to the main floor. "Wait," she stopped suddenly, looking around. "Where's Mark?"

Nodding over his shoulder toward the stairs, Randy fished his valet ticket from his pocket. It wasn't as though he needed it - everyone at the club knew who he was and what he drove. "He's on Logan detail at closing," he informed his companion. "It's his job to make sure that Logan gets home without incident." Trailing his index finger down the fabric at the small of her back, Randy bent low and whispered, "Don't worry, though. We won't need him for the rest of the night."

It was all so surreal. A gorgeous guy at her side, leading her into a world she had heard only the faintest rumors of. A mysterious benefactor who offered her the agent of her dreams. And a complete lack of the nagging feelings that would tell her this wasn't the best idea in the world. Instead of being scared, nervous, or skeptical, Rohan found herself feeling better than she had in months.

And she wasn't the only one. As Randy helped her into the passenger's seat of his truck, he felt the overwhelming urge to sing. His plan had worked. His gift had been acceptable. He had offered Logan something he was severely lacking - a respectable member of young Hollywood who was just desperate enough to need his help, and still had enough time ahead of her to develop into a powerhouse for the empire. He had offered a sacrifice worthy of the big time. The world was his oyster. His destiny was on the urge of being fulfilled. All he had to do was reach out and take it.


	6. In Good Hands

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 6: _In Good Hands

* * *

If it were truly possible to float on air, Rohan was fairly sure she was doing it. As she handed her keys to the valet outside of the Beverly Hills Hotel, she couldn't stop herself from smiling, couldn't stop the giggle that threatened to bubble over her lips. She couldn't help being the happiest she had been in a very long time.

Her meeting with Jake Wildman couldn't have gone better. In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd have believed that he was waiting for her to show up, just so he could sign her. They barely spoke as he looked over her portfolio and resume, and when he was finished, he had shone his reknowned, thousand-watt smile and nodded his head. _"I'm sending a stack of scripts to you this afternoon, Princess. You want comedy? I've got funny shit, Sweetie. Apatow funny. You want drama? I've got a Clint Eastwood piece that'll drive you to tears. How 'bout a smart, sexy political thriller? Got a great script for ya. Damon and Affleck are producing, new indie director who'll blow your fuckin' mind. I'm sending them all to you because I think you're perfect."_

That had been the extent of the conversation. His assistant had given her the contract and she had signed it without a second thought. She was now a part of the Wildman family, the most prestigious group of actors in Hollywood. There were no limits to where her career could bounce now, and all she had to do was select the parts that she wanted and claim them. Just like Randy told her. _When opportunity presents itself, all you have to do is reach out and take it. _

She'd lunched at the infamous Polo Lounge on a few occasions, taken meetings with directors amidst the other notable names that frequented the establishment. But it had been awhile since she'd felt at place amongst the elite. Of course, now that she had Jake Wildman on her side, she knew that nobody deserved this lunch as much as she did. Smoothing her hands over her perfectly-tailored, pinstriped dress pants, she flashed a smile at the maitre d' and found she didn't need to say a word before the man motioned for her to follow him through the restaurant.

So maybe there was one person who deserved the lunch more than she did. Somebody who, until the previous night, didn't exist, as far as she was concern. A whisper of a hint of a rumor. But seated at the rear of the restaurant, backlit by the sparkling sunshine through the large picture window, Rohan couldn't deny him any longer. He did exist, and he was on her side, too. Maybe that wasn't sunshine pouring through the window. Maybe it was God smiling down on her.

"There's my girl," Logan grinned, standing from his chair as she approached, a wide smile on his lips. "You look beautiful, Sweetheart," he whispered against her ear as they hugged briefly.

Lowering her eyes modestly, Rohan nodded her thanks and allowed him to pull her chair out. As she waited for him to return to his own seat, she allowed herself to cast a glance around the room. The soft buzz of business meetings and social meals filled the air, mingling with the decadent aromas of perfectly prepared, groumet foods. Her mouth was watering at the very thought of a grilled salmon filet on a bed of fresh baby spinach. To her left, she recognized Mark's enormous frame, along with the blonde VIP bouncer from Trinity, but paid them little attention as Logan cleared his throat and lifted his water goblet to his lips.

His eyes fixed on her, drinking in the appearance of the flawless brunette across the table. Rohan McKeehan was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. But this woman joining him was not the same desparate, beaten, broken-spirited young woman he'd met the previous night at his club. If there was one thing that Logan loved, it was seeing a smile on the faces of his friends. "So I'm assuming the meeting went well?"

Forgetting salmon, ambience, and everything else in the world, Rohan shook her head, allowing another Cheshire grin to split her lips. "Logan, it was everything I could have hoped for and then some. He's sending me a few scripts to look over this afternoon," she started and then shook her head, leaning forward slightly. "I can't even believe this is happening."

With a dismissive nod, he smiled at the approaching waitress, who sat two plates of the very salmon Rohan had been craving before the pair. "The salmon is so great here," he told her, chuckling again when her eyes doubled in size.

"It's exactly what I was wanting," she shook her head and then forced herself to shut her mouth. Logan was smooth. Too smooth for words. He wasn't going to be impressed by the dolt of an actress who couldn't control her own motor functions. Taking a sip of her water to center herself, she shook her dark locks. "You're pretty unbelievable, you know that?"

Logan's shoulders shrugged easily. "So I've been told," he spoke as though it were no big deal. As though he hadn't just changed her life and pleased her taste buds all in one fell swoop. As though he weren't the greatest guy she could possibly imagine at the moment. "Mark," he spoke to the next table, his voice never raising though the big man seemed to have no trouble hearing him. Tossing a warm roll toward his bodyguard, Logan grinned madly when he turned back to Rohan. "He loves the bread here," he explained.

Taking a bite of her fish, Rohan tired like hell to fight the satisfied grin from breaking over her lips. He was the epitome of cool. He was composed and collected. He was completely unaffected. But in tossing a dinner roll to the man beside him, he oozed a college-boy charm that she found irresistible. Rohan found herself even more stumped by the enigmatic wonder that was Logan. Who was this man? How had he risen to this position of power? Was he even old enough to be everything they said he was? Did it matter?

She dropped her fork to her plate, drawing Logan's eyes to her face once more. "I wanna thank you, Logan," she spoke sincerely. Words would never be enough to explain what he had given her. It was more than a meeting with the greatest of agents. It was more than a great lunch at a Hollywood hot spot. It was more than his time or company. It was a sense of confidence that she hadn't felt in quite awhile. He had given her the chance to prove herself again, and that meant more to Rohan than all of the other things put together. "I just wish there was some way for me to make it up to you."

Though Logan shook his head, again as though it were nothing to him, Rohan could have sworn she heard a snicker from the table next to them. Quickly averting her eyes, she could see Mark's shoulders rise and fall just slightly. What was that? Was it anything? _You're bein' paranoid, Ro, and there's no reason for it. Your life is so good right now. Don't fuck it up._

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart," Logan assured her, stopping the insecure thoughts dead on the tracks of her mind. She didn't know if he meant the payback or the doubts that had surfaced in her mind just then. She really didn't care. "So tell me a little bit about yourself," he moved the conversation easily, his eyes focused on her even as he continued to savor his meal.

Never one for talking too much about herself, Rohan found it somewhat amusing that she was willing to disclose so much information to this man she barely knew. Even though her head said that she had just met him, something about Logan's air said that she could talk to him. About anything.

"And that's when I met Randy and he introduced me to you," she finished her tale, barely remembering the taste of her meal, though a glance at her plate told her that she had devoured most of it while speaking with her new friend.

If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed that Logan never offered any information about himself. But she wasn't. She couldn't. Not when he kept asking her questions about herself, appearing to be so interested in whatever she told him. "Orton's a good guy," he responded much as he had the night before. "Intense sometimes."

Letting out a low whistle, Rohan sipped from her water glass and tried to keep the thoughts of Randy's naked form out of her mind. Intense was an understatement. Enthusiastic was also a bit of short sell. Randy Orton was a god among men in her mind, not that it was appropriate to tell Logan such things at the lunch table. "You can say that again," she winked.

Taking the information in stride, Logan nodded. "So I've heard," he answered easily, as though it wasn't the first time he'd been told of his friend's skills outside the wrestling ring. "Let me ask you a question, Rohan," he started, raising a finger into the air to catch the waitress's attention. "Do you have plans this evening?"

She watched as the waitress approached and took the credit card from Logan's hand. When had he pulled that out? Rohan hadn't even noticed. It was as though she could notice nothing but the man himself when he was speaking. Who was this guy? "Um, no, I don't think so. I was going to go shopping to celebrate, but the evening should be free." She really didn't care if she looked desparate, especially if it meant spending more time with her new friends.

Logan folded his hands on the table before him and smiled. "Good," he nodded, and the affirmation brought butterflies to Rohan's stomach. "I want you to join me at Trinity," he stated. It was an invitation, but his tone said that she was expected to accept. As though she would think of doing anything else. "You can bring Orton if you want," he added with a smirk.

Did Logan think that she and Randy were an item? Had Randy allowed him to believe that? Wouldn't a guy like Logan see through a bull shit lie like the tabloids were spreading? Or did he see something that she didn't? He was pretty observant. Maybe Rohan had, inadvertantly, given him some sign that she had feelings for Orton. Did she? It was good sex, but other than a few connections and a big dick, Orton didn't have a lot of characteristics that she admired in a man. Certainly she wasn't interested.

Before she could think to deny the accusations that Logan hadn't actually made, the man motioned to the table at his side. "Mark will see you to your car, Rohan," he dismissed her. But with Logan, it didn't feel like a dismissal. It didn't seem strange at all. "I'll see you tonight, Sweetheart," he added with a wink that filled her belly with a warmth she couldn't explain.

As Mark towered over her, clearing the path to the valet stand at the curb, Rohan nibbled on her bottom lip. The fresh air seemed to clear her head, to reveal the absurdity of the last hour. She had practically thrown herself at Logan. She had swooned and mooned and done all of the things she swore she would never do with anyone she barely knew. Especially not for the sake of her career. But there seemed to be a power that he possessed, something that she couldn't explain, and simply didn't want to. "I'm doin' the right thing, aren't I?" she asked to no one in particular.

As the valet pulled her car around the corner, Mark rested a hand on Rohan's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "You're in good hands now, Rohan," he assured her. "The best."

Expelling a heavy breath, she stepped away from the man at her side and eased into the front seat of her car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. It was a new day. In a new world. She could either worry about it and fret over the absolute lack of sense that her new situation made, or she could embrace and trust that Mark was right. That she was in good hands. "The best," she repeated with a smirk as she eased onto the highway. There were boutiques with her name all over them on Rodeo. She had to find something fabulous if she was going to be a VIP at Trinity again.


	7. VIP REPOST

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 7_: 'Very Important Pawn'

* * *

"Your Cosmo, Ms. McKeehan," a sweet, high-pitched voice sounded at Rohan's shoulder as she turned from her conversation with an up and coming director she'd been introduced to earlier in the evening to tip the bubbly waitress. 

Taking the glass, Rohan smiled politely and dismissed herself from the group she had been working for the last ten minutes. Making her way toward the edge of the dance floor, she stopped for a cheek-kiss from a professional athlete and then waved at a music producer she'd met the week before. The magnitude of her life was not lost on Rohan as she continued to move toward the stairs of the club that was quickly feeling like her second home.

Two months ago, if anyone would have told her that she would be a regular at Trinity, she would have laughed in their faces. She would have shown them the minimal stack of scripts on her desk, and the panning reviews of her most recent work, and then she would have laughed. Probably until she broke into the tears at the spiral of dismal darkness she was hurtling into. She could hardly believe that it had taken her less than a month to climb back up the ladder, higher than she had been before.

Meeting Randy in that bar had seemed like just another in a string of unfortunate incidents, but it had turned out to be the greatest day of her life. Because Randy had introduced her to Logan. Logan had introduced her to Jake. And Jake had introduced her to directors and actors she had only dreamt of working with.

As she climbed the steps to the infamous VIP area, she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and fought to control her smile. Acting like a dorky, star-struck fan was no longer acceptable. She was one of the elite. She was everything she had always dreamed of being while she was growing up in Brooklyn, New York. And she was only getting started.

Approaching the curtain, she nodded politely at the imposing figures that manned the door for their infamous leader. She wasn't sure who they were, never really paid attention to the guys who took over when the wrestlers were on the road, but she had heard murmers about ultimate fighers and boxers and they seemed friendly enough. Without a question, the one on the left pulled the curtain back and waited for her to step through.

Though he was flanked by two Victoria's Secret models, Logan stood immediately when Rohan entered. He always stood for her, moved to her with that gliding grace she couldn't help smiling at, took her elbow in his smooth hands, and pressed a warm kiss to her right cheek. "I was wondering if you were going to stop in tonight," he smiled easily.

Rohan looked to the floor and then forced herself to meet the intensity of his stare once more. "I can't stay long," she told him as he returned to his seat and motioned for her to take her place on the couch to his right. "I have a photo shoot with Vanity Fair in the morning."

He smiled and nodded as the brunette beside him offered him a champagne flute. Over time, Rohan had noticed that Logan always had two women at his side. Always a blonde and a brunette. A light and a dark. An angel and a devil at his shoulders. A month ago, it would have bothered her that these beautiful women reduced themselves to giggling arm candy for any man. But that was before she met Logan. With him, it didn't seem strange or infuriating at all.

"Vanity Fair, huh?" Logan asked, his eyes fixated Rohan as she reclined on the leather couch, martini glass dangling from her manicured fingers. "Who's shootin' you?" When Rohan mentioned the high-fashion photographer they had scored for the shoot, Logan's lips turned up on the ends. "Perfect man for the job," he agreed with a nod.

Knowing that he approved filled Rohan's chest with pride. She still believed in making decisions for herself, with following her heart in every aspect of her career, but knowing that Logan agreed with the direction she was taking seemed like garunteed affirmation. But before she could gush about the location and concept for the shoot, Logan's phone rang.

He listened for a moment and nodded. "Send him in," he spoke and then slid his iPhone into his jacket pocket. Turning to the women at his sides, he slid one hand over the blonde's knee while taking the brunette's chin in his other hand. "Give me twenty minutes, ladies. Go work the room."

They did as they were told, exiting quickly. But as Rohan uncrossed her legs to follow suit, Logan patted the couch beside him. "You can stick around, Sweetheart," he assured her.

Though she was nervous as to what was about to happen, Rohan couldn't deny her curiosity. Licking her glossed lips, she moved gracefully to the seat at Logan's side and allowed him to take her glass. "I can wait," she started to assure him, but he simply shook his head.

Holding her chin as he had the brunette earlier, she felt as though Logan was staring into her soul. "You belong here, Rohan," he said as though it should have been obvious.

Did she? Part of her knew that she did, that she always had, that she had been destined for whatever it was Logan was offering her. But another part of her, the Rohan from the recent past, couldn't quite wrap her head around the words Logan was saying. She belonged here. In his inner circle. At his side. In his world. How? Why? What did she have that all of those other, more recognizable faces on the floor didn't? Why had he chosen her?

But before she could dwell any further, the curtain opened and two men she instantly recognized strolled into the room. "Hey, guys," Logan welcomed easily, his hands stretched out to guide his guests to the seats on either side. "Have a seat."

Randy winked at Rohan as he sat, the point of his tongue dragging across his lower lip as his eyes seemingly tore her red, silk dress from her body. "Rohan," he nodded.

"Randy," she mimicked the tone of his voice as she crossed her legs toward Logan and leaned back on the couch, sipping from her glass as though completely unaffected. It was fine by him. She could play hard-to-get all she wanted in front of other people. He knew how easy she was behind closed doors.

Shifting slightly, the other man cleared his throat and pushed a strand of his blonde hair behind his ear. Rohan had seen Hunter stand guard over Logan's door countless times, serving as yet another oversized bodyguard in Trinity's excessive security team. So she had been fairly surprised when Randy informed her that he was known worldwide as Triple H, an eleven time heavyweight champion in the WWE. Apparently, outside of Trinity, he was one of the most respected men in his profession. Inside Trinity, he was merely another one of Logan's lackies.

Her certainly didn't seem like a world champion at the moment. Stripped of his usual black garb and sunglasses, Hunter wore a tailored suit with a pastel tie, a sharp contrast to the man in jeans on the other couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he cleared his throat once again, as though the words he was about to speak were caught there. "Look, man," he started, finally raising his eyes to meet Logan's, "you know what's goin' on, right? Steph's real close to her due date and everything."

Randy had explained that Hunter's wife, Stephanie, was pregnant with their first child. Now that she thought about it, Randy talked about Hunter a lot, both as a mentor and hero, and as an obstacle and a frustration. He had paved the way for Randy, and for that, the younger man was grateful. But he had also stood in the way of Randy's path to the gold for far too long, as far as Randy was concerned. There was definitely a love/hate relationship between the men, and Rohan couldn't help cutting her eyes to Randy just in time to see him let a smirk play on his full lips.

"What are you doin' here, Hunter?" Logan asked, leaning forward to mirror the other man's pose. He was considerably smaller, in both height and weight, but undoubtedly the more confident of the two at the moment. And in a way that only Logan could, he folded his hands and shrugged his shoulders, cutting through the uncomfortable tension in the room. "What do you need?"

Rolling his shoulders, Hunter seemed to regain a shred of his composure. "I got a lot goin' on right now, man," he began to explain. "I need to cut back somewhere when the baby gets here. Try to find a little more time for my family." Leaning back slightly, as if to project a confidence that he just wasn't feeling, he met Logan's eye head on. "I'm gonna need to take a couple of months off from the bouncin', man."

Both Randy and Hunter watched Logan, as though expecting a blow up. Rohan was the only one who seemed to know that one wouldn't come. Logan didn't blow up. Even when he was upset, he didn't explode in anger. He was too cool for that. Too collected. Above it. She couldn't help smiling at the way they hung on every silence, waiting for the moment that the bomb would drop.

With a shrug, Logan stood, followed immediately by Hunter. Randy and Rohan stayed seated, but Rohan noticed that Randy's eyes never left the men standing before him. "No problem, man," Logan nodded, grasping Hunter's forearms in his hands. They shared a brief hug and Logan pressed a kiss to Hunter's left, bearded cheek. "Give Steph my love," he instructed, releasing his bodyguard with a grin.

Hunter nodded and turned to go. If she hadn't been watching, Rohan would have missed the look that passed between Randy and Logan. She would have missed the slight nod of Randy's head just before Logan lowered himself back to her side and stretched his arms over the back of the couch. "So, Orton, our girl here has a Vanity Fair shoot in the morning." If she had been more doe-eyed, she would have believed there was a twinge of pride in his voice. Over her. Because of her.

Randy's eyebrow raised in interest as he checked his watch. "Well, then," he grinned wickedly, "maybe I should get you home, then, Ms. Superstar."

Though she couldn't deny she had a good time with Randy sans clothing, something about his personality still grated on her nerves. There were times when she remembered her first impression of him, the way his seduction oozed arrogance. Times when she remembered exactly why she'd been so repulsed at the idea of everyone thinking they were dating. And she still couldn't figure out why he fit in so seamlessly here, how he had wiggled his way into the inner circle when so many of his more noteable, more credibly cohorts valeted and stood guard. What did Randy Orton have that the rest of them didn't?

"Actually," she sighed, shooting apologetic eyes at Logan, "I do need to get going." Standing, she smoothed her hands over her skirt and accepted Logan's hug, along withe the quick kiss to her cheek. "But I drove myself, so I won't be needing a ride."

Cracking his knuckles, Randy shook hands with Logan, undeterred. "Good," he licked his lips again and both men shared a knowing smile. "Cause I rode with Hunter, so I'm gonna need a ride back to the hotel."

She wanted to stomp her foot and pitch a fit. She wanted to the scrappy kid from Brooklyn who didn't take shit from anybody, who didn't suffer fools, especially fools with more dick than brains. She wanted to show Orton that his muscles didn't scare her, and that Logan's cool confidence didn't impress her. She wanted to throw down with both of them, to prove that she deserved everything that she had earned.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and walked toward the door. "Which hotel?"


	8. Who's On Top REPOST

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 8: _Who's on Top?

Warning: This chapter contains adult content.

* * *

Beautiful women were like a benefit of his job. No different than a 401K or a dental plan in a normal company. They worked with him, they lunged at him from ringside seats, and they waited for him at hotels around the world. They were nothing more than a perk, one that he took full advantage of whenever possible. 

Rohan wasn't any hotter than any of the other women he'd been with. Her tits weren't any bigger. Her waist wasn't smaller. Her ass wasn't any rounder. Her lips weren't any fuller, and her hair wasn't any shinier. But there was something about her that left every other women he'd ever thought about thinking about in the dust at her feet.

Coaxing her back to his hotel room hadn't been that hard. In fact, it had seemed to be a welcome alternative to his first suggestion, that she just take him home with her. He assumed that was due to the fact that more cameras had followed them from the club to the car than the last time he was in town. She was a star on the rise once again, a feel-good comeback story from the girl they'd all loved once upon a time. Why in the hell would she wanna be weighed down by a steroid-injected pro wrestling freak?

Because he was Randy fuckin' Orton. That's why. Because he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Because, whether she realized it or not, he was her connection to the real power in the business. He was everything she had ever wished upon a twinkly star for, everything she had ever dreamed about in her little pink unicorn bedroom back in Brooklyn. He was everything she could possibly hope for, and the sooner she realized that, the sooner Phase 2 could begin.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rohan asked as she walked around his posh suite, dragging her finger over the mahogany finish of the dinette table.

Leaning against the marble counter top, arms crossed over his chest, he studied her with a trademark smirk. He couldn't help it. It tweaked his lips every time she tried to put him off. It was a futile effort, at best, but he couldn't help being amused at the attempt. "Did I have to work at being this sexy or is it just natural?"

Rohan just rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Um, no," she laughed. "What was the deal with you and Logan tonight?" Randy shook his head as though he didn't know what she was talking about. "Don't play dumb with me, Orton. You know what I'm talking about."

He did. He knew exactly what she was talking about, but he'd be damned if he told her. Logan may have considered her inner circle, but as far as Randy was concerned, that just meant better treatment for himself. He brought Rohan into the fold. Logan liked Rohan. Randy was the man. It was simple, really.

Pushing off of the counter, he made his way across the spacious floor between them, trapping her trim waist in his large hands. Dipping his head, he pressed a warm kiss to her neck. "You really wanna talk about Logan right now?" he asked, his voice dangerously low against her skin.

Though she wished she could fight the shudder, Rohan couldn't deny she was learning things about Randy Orton. The more time they spent together, the more she realized that he wouldn't say anything he didn't want to say. Wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do. He wouldn't succumb to anything that wouldn't pay off for him in the end.

There had been a time in her life when she would have scoffed at the thought of putting herself in a compromising situation for anything. Not for work, not for survival, not for anything. But she had learned something else from Randy over the last couple of months. There was something to the whole 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' philosophy. She was going to have to start giving a little to get a little.

Wrapping her arms around him, she ran her fingers up under his tee shirt, feeling the warmth of the hard planes of his muscular back. He was definitely the finest physical specimen she had ever enjoyed. If she was honest, it really wasn't that bad. She had definitely been in worse situations, endured worse than his lips claiming hers and his strong hands lifting her onto the table.

With her legs firmly around his waist, Randy took the opportunity to lift Rohan's dress over her head and toss it to the floor. It was probably expensive, but he really didn't care. Not when he saw the matching lace bra and panties she wore underneath. Sweet Jesus, he had been wrong. Her body was out of control. Perky in just the right places. Supple right where he needed her to be. Randy was a firm believer that every woman was more attractive naked. As it turned out, Rohan didn't need to be naked. She was unbelievable in her underwear, too.

She knew full well that his eyes were fixated on the sway of her hips as she led the way to the bedroom. And when she turned to face him and hoisted herself onto the high mattress of his plush digs, she didn't even try to ignore the sexual tension building between them. Scooting toward the headboard, she rested her feet on the mattress and raised her knees, spreading her legs and hooking her finger to invite him to her.

But Randy wasn't about to be controlled. Even if he did want nothing more than to jump onto the bed and devour every bare, delicious inch of Rohan's body. With a shake of his head, he pursed his lips and held her gaze. "Come here," he mouthed, his eyes providing all of the volume he needed to get his point across.

Everything in her body screamed for her to hold her position, to make him come to her, to make him work for some shit this time. But her brain screamed louder than her limbs. _Give him enough of what he wants to get what you want, Rohan. You can do this. You can play him just as well as he plays you._

While she crawled toward him on all fours, Randy watched the way she moved. She wasn't skinny. Not in that unhealthy way that suggested she tried to hard to fit the Hollywood mold. But she was lean, and toned. Toned enough that he could watch her muscles move beneath her taut skin. Toned enough to squeeze him just right when he was resting between her thighs. Toned just enough to be perfect. When she stopped and looked up at him, Randy couldn't help licking his lips hungrily. "Sit up," he commanded with an authority that made her eyes twinkle.

"Fuck you," Rohan answered instinctively. She knew what was going on here, and she wasn't about to be the only one doing all the giving.

But Randy just laughed and grabbed her arms, lifting her from the bed easily and setting her back down, before bending to take her ankles in his hands. "Don't worry, Sweetheart," he winked, running his fingers up her legs until they hooked into the sides of her nude-colored panties. "You will," he added as she lifted her hips and allowed him to strip her.

When he dropped her legs at his sides, Rohan took the initiative to lean forward and push his unbuttoned pants over his narrow hips. Her fingers trailed the dents in his hips, wrapping around his waist as she pressed herself against him. Randy took the opportunity to unhook her bra with one hand as the other pushed her hair behind her ear and trailed her jawline softly.

"Gotta admit, Orton," she sighed when he lifted her legs in his hands again, spreading her legs and pulled her to the very edge of the bed. "You're good."

With a simple shrug, he watched her carefully as her eyes traveled over his hardening length. Didn't take much to get him ready. Her walk from the living room to the bedroom had done that. Seeing her open and awaiting him was more than enough. "I'm the best, baby doll," he assured her, taking her hand in his and guiding it to his waiting hardness.

Though Rohan really wanted to roll her eyes, she did as she knew he was expecting her to do, guiding him into her opening while easing her loose fist over his shaft. She didn't want to like him, and most times she really didn't, but when he was inside of her, it was hard to hate Randy Orton. When his strong hands gripped her ankles tightly, his full lips sucked air through his clenched teeth, she couldn't help the flop in her belly or the insane growling that seemed to sound from somewhere out of her control.

Everything about her demeanor said that she didn't care for him, that she was teetering on the edge of a simmering hatred. But the way she threw her head back against the mattress and gripped at the sheets beside her told him differently. She tried to be aloof and distant, but Randy didn't believe it for a second when she begged him to give her more.

The slow smirk that spread over his lips made Rohan want to vomit. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he think it was a huge feat to make her scream? Did he think he was the only man that had drawn that string of obscenities from her? That he was the only dick that had ever turned her out? As disgusting as she found his arrogance, Rohan couldn't deny that there were moments when it was quite amusing. Randy thought he was the shit, no doubt. _Oh, it's gonna be so funny when you fall, fucker_, she thought as he leaned into her, his shoulders holding her knees higher as he delved deeper into her wetness.

_Awe, she thinks she can hold out_, Randy thought, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth. _That's kinda cute_.

He'd hooked up with his fair share of Grade A honeys in the last few years, women that would blow the average Joe's mind. Women with whom a mere wrestler had no business sharing a bed. Women he liked a hell of a lot more than Rohan. Women who weren't such challenging pains in his ass. Women who didn't irritate him, who never made him work for what he wanted, who never spoke unless spoken to first. Women who were much more suited to him. But not one of them was even in the same league as Rohan, as far as he was concerned.

She had already seized and relaxed around him twice before Randy found his end. With a growl and a nearly-maniacal chuckle, he withdrew his member from her and winked.

Rohan groaned. She knew what he wanted. And if he didn't give her what she wanted by the end of the night, she was going to punch him in the fuckin' neck. She didn't pull her exhausted body upright and wrap her mouth around just anybody. In fact, there was nothing she wanted less in that moment than for Randy to finish in her mouth. But there was something that she needed more.

Gripping her hair with one hand, Randy steadied himself against Rohan's shoulder and allowed her to coax his ending. She wasn't the first actress, or the first celebrity, that he had fucked. But she was definitely different than the rest. She was special.

When he had collapsed beside her on the bed, face down, Rohan laid back, staring at the ceiling as she caressed her own stomach with the back of her hand. It had come as no shock to her when Randy hadn't turned out to be a cuddler. He liked his space after sex, and that was fine with her. She wasn't going to complain about a little bit of space from him. And if he was on his own side of the bed, she didn't have to worry about his fingers probing her before she was ready.

"Remind me," she cleared her throat and spoke lazily into the silence that seemed haunting after the groans and screams of satisfaction had faded around them, "to thank Logan for introducing us," she baited. "Cause I have never, in my life, met anyone who can do that to me." So it wasn't the absolute truth. It didn't matter. It would work. She hoped.

Logan. Fuckin' Logan again. Randy had heard enough about Logan to last him a lifetime. In fact, he was rather surprised when Rohan didn't scream Logan's name when she came. "He didn't," he corrected quickly, almost before she had finished speaking. With a perplexed expression, Rohan turned her head to see his face, contorted and irritated. "Logan didn't introduce us," he reminded her. "I introduced you to Logan. Not the other way around."

It took every bit of Rohan's acting prowess not to laugh at the spoiled, pouty look on Randy's face. Mr. Golden Boy really had a problem with his fearless leader. Or he had a problem with anybody who took his credit. Which was strange, she realized, since most of what Randy did for Logan was under the table anyway. "Whatever. You know what I meant."

He did know what she meant. The same thing they all meant. He was the greatest fuck of their lives, and it was all thanks to fuckin' Logan. Like Logan was the one who had given him a big dick and the ability to use it. Like Logan had helped him hone his bedroom skills into a thing of art. Like Logan must have been at the center of everything. "Whatever," Randy rolled his eyes and struggled to sit, reaching for his cigarettes on the bedside table.

"Does it bother you?" Rohan asked, following suit to lean against the headboard, accepting the light that he offered.

Truthfully, it didn't usually bother Randy at all. "What's to be bothered by?" he asked honestly with a shrug as he exhaled a thick line of white smoke into the air. "Dude's got his hand in the sweetest of pots. I can get fine fuckin' pussy whenever I want it. I ain't gonna complain," he added. It was true. Maybe not the whole truth, but enough of it. It irritated him sometimes, but he wouldn't consider himself bothered by the situation. Randy did was Logan needed done. Logan rewarded Randy with whatever fine piece of ass he could pick off of the Trinity floor. The women he hooked up with were like beautiful, shapely, energetic Scooby Snacks.

"And me?" she asked, her eyebrow arching in curiosity. She wanted the truth, but a part of her couldn't help feeling offended. She was nothing more than a doggy treat for Logan's good little puppy? Was that it? Randy had done something for Logan, and he had given her over as payment? Was she nothing more than a high-profile reward? "What'd you have to do to get me?"

_It's what I'm gonna do_, Randy thought, but shook his head. "You're different," he admitted out loud for the first time. This wasn't about to turn into some declaration of his love, but he wasn't gonna let anybody take credit for Rohan. She was his. He wasn't letting go of that. "Logan didn't pick you. I did," he reiterated.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he should say as much, but what did it matter? Even if she told Logan, they'd been boys for a lot longer than Logan had known Rohan. Damage control would be minimal. Plus, he was fuck-drunk. Logan knew he said stupid shit when he was comin' off an orgasm high.

There was so much she still didn't understand. So many rumors that she had heard over the years that just didn't mesh with the man she found herself growing closer to with each passing day.

Or was she getting closer? She knew that Logan liked having her around, he'd told her that himself. But why? Who was she? How did she fit into whatever power plan he had? Was he going to require something of her, as he allegedly required of others? Could he really offer her the world on a string? And if so, what kind of hoops was she going to have to jump through to be able to hold that world in the palm of her hand?

When Randy grabbed the hotel phone to order room service, she allowed her eyes to settle on his strong shoulders. How did Randy Orton fit into Logan's world? Why did a guy with Logan's reputation even bother with Randy and his wrestling cohorts? What was he into that he needed that much muscle under the radar? What did Randy really do for Logan? What could possibly garner the kind of 'rewards' that Randy spoke of?

Even as he hung up the phone and snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her into his waiting lap, Rohan couldn't stop the questions from racing through her mind. Exactly who was this entity known only as Logan? Where did he come from? How had he become so powerful at such a young age? How young was he? Or was there something to the 'immortal' garbage she had heard?

What kind of relationship did he really have with the man now causing her moan in ecstasy once again? How long had Randy and Logan known each other? How close were they? Friends? Brothers? Partners in crime? Or did Randy esteem himself higher on the Logan ladder than he had actually climbed?

Rohan had lived the last couple of months in a state of constant confusion, never sure of where she stood, or what star she had wished on to change her fortune so completely. She had accepted long ago that everyone harbored their own secrets, their own dirty laundry, their own closeted skeletons. She knew that there was more to both of the new men her life than met the human eye. But the feeling of Randy's hand connecting with her hip, causing her to buck against him, to ride him harder, washed most of the doubts from her mind. For the time being, it didn't matter. For the moment, she could go with the flow.

When the time was right, she would be ready. When the time came to get her answers, she would find them. But for the time being she just had to keep repeating the mantra that Logan and Randy had been so fond of teaching her. All she had to do was wait for opportunity to present itself.


	9. The Devil Himself

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 9:_ The Devil Himself

**A/N: Sorry for the mix up in the last few chapters, you guys. Chapter 8 got posted twice, so if you were confused, I apologize for that. Hopefully, we're back on track now.

* * *

**

"Where have you been?"

Randy looked up from the script he'd been perusing, more irritated by the accusatory tone than surprised. "What? I'm early," he stated, checking his watch just to be sure.

But Edge just shook his head. Pairing up with Orton hadn't been his idea. In fact, he'd been adamantly against it when Vince proposed the idea. Not because the younger superstar wasn't incredibly talented, but because he was a shifty, entitled asshole. He had been born into the business, unlike some of them who actually had to work for their positions on the roster. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't opposed to knocking a guy out for real in the ring. He was dangerous, and Edge didn't care for dangerous. Not when there was so much opportunity for injury in their business to begin with.

"We had a signing in Berkley two days ago. I been callin' you for three." With his hands on his trim hips, Edge waited for Randy's response, knowing full-well that he probably wouldn't have one. He never had an answer. Or, if he did, he didn't feel the need to share it. "Look," he stated when Randy shrugged and went back to reading his script, "we don't have to like each other here," he motioned with his head to the backstage area, "but out there, we're partners. A team. You might not give a damn about our fans, but it's your job to give them what they want. And they want to see us together."

Randy didn't even try to fight the roll of his eyes. When Vince had told him that he was going to be teaming up with Edge, he'd been happy about it, actually. On screen, Edge was one of the most vicious of all competitors. He would be able to get away with a lot more violence and destruction than he'd been able to accomplish on his own. It was a win for his career, and Randy couldn't deny that.

What he hadn't been ready for was the fact that Edge seemed to think that he was Randy's father. Always giving him advice, telling him how to best represent the company, how to cater to his audience. As if the fans would stop buying his gear just because he didn't show up at one signing. Like they would stop watching him on television because he ignored them in a hotel lobby.

"Dude, relax," Randy laughed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I had some stuff to take care of. It's taken care of. Move on," he advised, the cell phone in his pocket vibrating against his hip. Withdrawing it, he smirked and held up a finger. "Hey, man, what's up?" He listened for a moment and then disconnected the call and tucked a hand into his pocket. Without another word, he turned on his heel.

But Edge wasn't done. He'd had enough of being blown off by a punk-ass kid who, as far as he was concerned, didn't deserve to lace the boots of most of the guys in the locker room. "Don't you fuckin' walk away from me, Orton."

Randy just shook his head, one hand gripping his rolled up script as the other tucked easily into his back pocket. Edge thought he was hot shit because he was a veteran. He thought that his word meant something. He thought that he was the reason they were a successful tag team. He thought his opinion mattered. It was almost funny to Randy the way some guys acted like they were in some position of power around the company.

A heavy hand rested on Edge's shoulder as he seethed after the retreating form of his partner. Turning his head, he relaxed slightly as the hulking figure of Taker lumbered just behind him. "Dude, how do you hang with him?" he asked.

"He's not all bad," Taker answered with a slight smile. Or the closest thing to a smile he ever gave. "Can I give ya some advice?"

Edge nodded, seemingly eager to soak in the knowledge from his older, wiser counterpart. He wasn't the biggest guy on the roster, and he didn't have a huge arsenal of high-flying or power moves. But he had respect. Respect for the business, and for the guys who made it what it was. Anything Taker could give him, he would use to his every advantage. "Of course."

Clearing his throat, Taker stepped to the side and rested against the wall, his willing pupil centered in his sites. There was so much passion in the younger man's eyes, so much hope and idealism. This was the part he hated about this job, the part where he crushed dreams and disillusioned the kids who'd dreamed of this life for as long as they could remember. "You do what you do because you love it, man, and that's real admirable. Gonna getcha respect in the locker room and from the fans. It's cool. You're a good man, Edge. Orton's just gonna be more successful."

He didn't mean for it to, but Edge could feel his jaw drop. What the hell? Taker was siding with Orton? He had seen the pair leave arenas together, but had never really seen them talk at work. He'd never really bought into the idea that Taker would waste his time on a fuck head like Orton. But from the sounds of things, he had been wrong.

Shaking his blond curls, he tried to clear the nonsensical statement and form a thought around the confusion. "That's not advice," he stated, frustrated by the direction of the conversation. "If you're gonna give me something, make it useful," he spat.

He understood that the kid didn't like the news he was delivering. Who would? But Edge was close enough now, and he needed to know. He needed to know that he had to watch his step, that being so close to Orton could be a blessing or a curse. Clearing his throat, he rolled his shoulders and leveled the younger man with serious eyes. "You gave your soul to this business, Edge, but Orton? He sold his to the devil himself."

The statement was so preposterous that Edge wanted to laugh. He wanted to roll his eyes and have a laugh with Taker about the joke he'd just made. But the severity, the sincerity of the look the older man was giving him said that it was anything but a joke. Metaphoric or literal, Edge wasn't sure, but he knew that the man standing in front of him wasn't kidding. "What?" was all he could manage to ask, though he wasn't sure what followed the question. What was he talking about? What did that mean? What was Edge supposed to do with the knowledge? What what?

With another of his semi-smiles, Taker pushed off of the wall he'd been leaning against and clapped his hand on Edge's shoulder. "Look, it's easy, okay? Orton's only out for one person, himself. Stay out of his way, and he won't give ya a second thought."

And with that, Taker was gone, leaving Edge to stare between the direction his partner had gone moments earlier and the floor. What the hell was going on? And why was there an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach? One that said he was involved in something he'd never asked to be a part of? One that said he'd only seen the beginning of how evil Randy Orton could be?

* * *

Randy exhaled a breath and shook his shoulders. Most guys would consider a summons like the one he had received a death sentence. Most guys would be right. But Randy knew better. He knew that whatever waited for him was going to be good, and that he deserved it.

Lifting the handle on the car, he slid into the back of the limo and exchanged a handshake with Logan, who lounged against his seat in a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. "Hey, man," he smiled easily, turning to wink at the young woman seated on Logan's other side.

Rohan rolled her eyes from her place on the bench to Logan's right, as was her customary greeting for Randy. Maybe if the arrogance didn't ooze out of his pores. Maybe if that smirk didn't make it look like he was about to eat her for lunch. Maybe if he wasn't so damn irritating. But he was. Infuriating and predatory and cocky beyond belief. It had occurred to her that he really wasn't any worse than a lot of the men she had worked opposite in her career. Definitely no more so than some of the directors and producers she'd known. But Logan didn't talk about how funny those guys were, or how great they were at a party.

For a brief moment, Logan sat in silence, watching the moment that passed between his friends. It was clear that Rohan didn't want Randy to think that she gave a damn about him. It was clear that Randy would rather throw him out of the car and rip Rohan's little black dress from her body. And it was clear that he was about to choke on the sexual tension the pair was creating, whether they knew it or not.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, smiling when Rohan immediately turned her gaze to his. Orton thought he was the shit, but he was nowhere near commanding the kind of attention that Logan did. Didn't matter if he was the life of the party. He would still leave alone, if Logan wanted him to. And that was enough for the smaller man. "So I made some calls," he finally spoke, his voice low and even, as it always was.

The grin on Logan's face told Randy all he needed to know, and he couldn't contain the laughter that spilled over his lips. "It's happenin'?" He cast a glance back at Rohan, but she only huffed and sipped from the champagne glass dangling between her fingers. "Dude," Randy exclaimed. He tried to contain his excitement most of the time, but it was difficult when something he'd wanted so badly was dangled right in front of his face.

Accepting the hand that Randy so jubilantly offered, Logan nodded his head and reached for the bottle chilling at his side. "It's done," he confirmed, filling a glass for his friend, and one for himself. "Filming starts in January."

Randy loved wrestling. It was in his blood. But if he was going to achieve the kind of notoriety, and cash, that he had always dreamed of, he was going to have to branch out. As Hogan, Austin, and Rocky had before him, he was going to have to be seen by a broader audience, by a movie-going audience. He didn't tell the guys in the locker room, of course, that he wanted to act. They would have mocked him to no end. But he'd shared the information with Logan, and Logan had promised that it would happen when Randy was ready.

Though the boys celebrated as though he'd already won an Oscar, Rohan downed her champagne and cringed inwardly. Randy was a great wrestler - everything she had read or heard about his athletic prowess inside his given profession echoed that thought. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, but she'd checked him out on YouTube, seen him speak on the microphone, or in backstage segments with his co-workers. Sure, he could get by. He was even better than some of his contemporaries, but a great actor he was not. Critics would eat him alive once he showed up on screen.

And they would crucify her for sharing a scene with him. How Logan had ever convinced her to talk Jake into getting Randy a part in her newest film, she would never know. How she had gone along with such a preposterous idea, she couldn't begin to wrap her head around. And the tabloids? She would need another drink before she could even think about it.

She'd never hated the paparazzi. In fact, she liked when they popped up at restaurants and shopping excursions. It meant that they cared about her, that people would pay money for a magazine with her picture in it. It meant that she was relevant again. The fact that her relevance seemed to be twisted up with her pseudo-relationship with a professional wrestler was a pain in the ass, especially since he wasn't actually her boyfriend. But if it kept her in their sites, she could allude the topic of her personal life with the best of Hollywood's A-list.

"So how many hot love scenes we got in this thing?" Randy finally asked when the conversation between he and Logan and slowed. Rohan raised her hand, forming a '0' with her fingers, but Randy just shrugged. "Guess we'll just keep those at home then, huh, Sweetheart?" She stuck her middle finger up, but that only made Randy laugh harder. "You tryin' to flirt with me, Ro? Cause you know how I love that finger."

Logan cleared his throat and held up a hand before Randy could describe just where he liked Rohan's finger. There were some things he didn't need to know about his friends. "Alright," he said, tearing his gaze from Rohan's plunging neckline once again to speak with Randy. "You got a show to put on. Do me a favor."

Randy nodded, one hand on the door handle and the other on his knee. "Anything, man."

"Keep an eye on Shawn for me. Got a weird call from him the other night." Randy nodded and exited the vehicle, as though he understood exactly what that meant. When he was gone, Logan turned back to Rohan and smiled, motioning for her to join him.

Rohan slid across the seat and settled into the spot beneath Logan's outstretched arm. She couldn't explain why, but when he pressed a kiss to the side of her head, she felt a warmth spreading through her, like a favored child. Randy could party, laugh, and celebrate with Logan all he wanted. It really didn't matter how many inside jokes and handshakes the two men shared. It really didn't even matter how much damage Randy did in Logan's name. She would find a way to get closer to Logan than Randy had ever dreamed of being. She would find a way to be his favorite, no matter what she had to do.


	10. Fact or Fiction

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 10: _'Fact or Fiction'

* * *

It hadn't been all that long ago, Rohan reminded herself, that screen tests had been a normal part of her career. She hadn't always been offered parts based on name-recognition alone. There had been a time when she had competed for the meatiest of film roles, usually losing out to someone with a better agent or publicist in the end. It had only been a few months since she'd experienced that gnawing feeling in her gut, the one that chewed through her self-confidence, exposing the doubt as to whether or not she still had what it took to sell a film. 

It hadn't been all that long ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. So far removed from her psyche that the nauseous feeling in her stomach felt foreign now. It was just an audition. How many had she performed over the course of her career? Too many to count. There was no reason to be nervous about this one. Not when she had Jake in her corner. And her raw talent, once again recognized by the critics and the public alike. Not when she had everything going for her.

But even as she watched the graying winter clouds rolling in over the Pacific, Rohan cradled her coffee cup to her chest and fought the onslaught of foreboding that washed over her. Nothing bad was going to happen. There was no reason for the jitters, the nerves. Absolutely no reason to jump when the cell phone at her side began to ring.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rohan reached for the phone and flipped it open. "Rohan McKeehan," she stated as coolly as possible.

"Congratulations, my love," Jake's booming voice filled the other end of the phone, causing Rohan to jump once again.

With a shaky laugh, she lowered her coffee cup to the table and cleared her throat. "For what?" He knew that she had an audition, but it wasn't like Jake to offer his praise before she did something. He was known as Hollywood's Ice Man, never satisfied and never smiling. At least, that's what anyone on the outside thought. It was still slightly unnerving for Rohan to experience the gushing mess of a man on the inside. The one who nearly pissed himself to keep her happy. Bizarre.

"The part, Sweetheart," Jake spoke, laughter rolling from his lips. "The Coen brothers film? It's yours, Precious." He mumbled something away from the phone and she knew that he was immersed in another deal even as they spoke. He wouldn't be Jake if he focused on only one thing at a time.

While a part of her wanted to jump up and squeal, the queasy feeling in her stomach moved toward her chest, refusing to settle. "But I thought I had to read it. I mean, Lauren and I were supposed to read for it today," she clarified. She didn't want him to think she was ungrateful, but it wasn't like a director to set up a reading and then hand the part to one of the actresses hours before the audition.

Jake chuckled and ordered an intern to run a document down the hall. Returning his attention to his client, she could picture him raising his feet to the desktop, his designer shoes gleaming in the soft lighting of his office. "You were," he confirmed. "But in a plot twist, of sorts, your competition came down with a pretty vicious strain of the flu. Had to be hospitalized last night. Sounds awful." Though his tone said he thought it was anything but, Rohan fought the urge to gasp. "Production can't wait to sign a leading lady, Sweetheart, and you were the one they were leaning toward anyway."

She wanted to be excited. She really did. But she had prepared for this reading. She had spent hours memorizing the dialogue and practicing different tones and notes. She was more prepared to win the role for herself than she had ever been for anything. To prove to herself that she could still get a part on her own, that she didn't HAVE to have a great agent, or Logan. She was grateful for them, and the last four months of her career had been fantastic. But she needed to know that she was talented, that she deserved what she was getting.

When she didn't respond, Jake's laughter dissipated. "Look, Rohan, this is a gift horse. Turn your head, put on something pretty, and go out to celebrate," he ordered.

Clearing her throat, Rohan stood from her deck chair and made her way back into her apartment. "How serious is this flu thing, Jake? Is Lauren okay?" The competition that he spoke of, Lauren Hall, had been her closest friend since the pair had met in LA nearly fifteen years earlier. Lauren had placed an ad for a roommate and Rohan had answered it. "What hospital is she in?"

Another burst of activity sounded from Jake's side of the phone. "I'll send some flowers in your name, Rohan," he assured her distractedly. "Just remember: One woman's stomach flu is another's Golden Globe nomination. I gotta get goin', but I've already told Joel that you're in, and I'll have the contract sent over. Much love."

Even as the call disconnected, Rohan felt the bile rising in her own stomach, memories of her lunch date with her old friend the day before rushing over her as she ran for her master bathroom.

_"Promise me that there'll be no hard feelings tomorrow when I steal this role out from under you," Lauren smiled brightly, her blue eyes dancing as she speared a spinach leaf with her fork and pointed it at her friend._

_Rohan nodded her head and sipped from her water glass, trying like hell not to cast a glance at the paparazzi standing just beyond the row of bushes surrounding The Ivy's patio seating. "Only if you promise me," she countered, narrowing her eyes and focusing her attention on the young woman she hadn't seen for months._

_But Lauren shook her blond head and popped the salad into her mouth. "Not a chance in hell," she laughed when Rohan's face screwed up in protest. "I will turn on you like Nicole on Paris," she added._

_"Ah," Rohan grinned, taking a minuscule bite of her chicken salad. "Now your true colors come out."_

_There had been a time when the pair were inseparable, but since Rohan had started her 'new' life, she'd had little time for anyone outside of Logan and Randy. It was a shame. She loved Lauren. She just didn't have the time anymore. _

_"What?" Lauren fired back playfully. "You think just because you've been ignoring me that I've somehow changed?"_

_"I haven't been ignoring you." Even as she spoke the defense, Rohan knew it was a lie. But it hadn't been an intentional kind of ignoring, so she figured it wasn't an entire fib. "I've been busy."_

_Lauren's large eyes rolled easily as she sank back into her chair and sipped at her own water goblet. "It's cool," she shrugged. "If I had a fine piece of ass at home, I'd be ignoring you, too."_

_Fine piece of ass? Rohan nearly sprayed her drink across the table at that thought. Was she talking about Randy? Had Lauren actually bought into all that tabloid garbage? "Please," she rolled her eyes. "Randy's different."_

_"Different?" Lauren's perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in interest. "Different how?"_

_In that moment, Rohan couldn't believe she hadn't thought of Lauren sooner. Logan would love Lauren. She was the blond to Rohan's brunette. The light to Rohan's dark side. She was just the type. "If I tell you something, you have to swear not to freak out, okay?" Nodding with all of the anticipation of a high school kid about to learn the juiciest piece of gossip about the head cheerleader, Lauren awaited Rohan's big news. "Randy introduced me to Logan."_

_Blankly, Lauren blinked. "Logan who?" When Rohan sat back, satisfied, Lauren's expression shifted. But it wasn't the incredulous laughter that had overtaken Rohan that night in Logan's presence. It was a horrified gasp that escaped the other woman's collagen-enhanced lips. "You're fucking kidding me?"_

_Lauren's reaction implied that she knew of Logan, that she believed in his existence. How could she, though? How could she have been in Logan's presence and not bothered to tell Rohan about it? That couldn't have slipped her mind. Logan wasn't a man soon forgotten. "You've met him?" she asked._

_"No," Lauren answered, crossing her arms in front of her on the table, her lunch quickly forgotten. "And the fact that you claim to and have yet to grow horns makes me wonder if you really have," she said, her voice void of any and all joking._

_Rohan looked at her friend as though she'd just grown another head. "What are you talking about? Horns?" It was the strangest thing she had ever heard._

_But Lauren wasn't joking around. "You've heard the stories, Ro. I know you have. About his power. About Trinity."_

_Reaching across the table, Rohan lifted Lauren's water glass to her nose and sniffed it quickly before replacing it at the side of Lauren's plate. "Did you spike your water?" _

_"Blood sacrifices? Dark magics? The club built on the site of an ancient pagan temple? Any of this ringing a bell with you?" _

_In that moment, Rohan realized that Lauren was totally and completely sober. And serious. Unfortunately, she couldn't be taken seriously. Not by Rohan, anyway. "Come on, Lauren. You don't actually believe that shit, do you? It's folklore. Bull shit fairy tales created by some bored screenwriters or waiter wannabe's."_

_"You say that out loud," Lauren's voice grew low, as a child telling a scary campfire tale at a sleepover, "but everyone buys into the legend of Logan. In the deep, dark places that they would never dare to speak of, they believe it. And they're either too scared to fight it, or too smart to fall for it." It was clear which side of the fence Lauren thought she fell onto, as well as where she was convinced Rohan was sitting. Pointing a pink fingernail at herself, Lauren went on. "I have talked to people who have pissed him off. People who have seen things you couldn't imagine, Rohan. Experienced things. No mere mortal," she stated, tapping her finger on the top of the table, "can have that much power."_

_Sinking back in her seat, Rohan folded her arms across her chest and stared her friend down. "You've been watching Charmed again, haven't you?" When they had lived together, Rohan thought that Lauren's Sci-Fi fascination was cute. She had been happy for her friend when she scored a guest-starring role on SG-1. But now she was going a little bit far._

_"Tell me this," Lauren challenged, perching on the edge of her seat as she posed her question. "You haven't wondered how your luck just changed? Just like that?" She snapped her fingers. "Overnight?" Tossing her hair over her shoulder without looking at the men with the cameras, she continued. "Why the photographers suddenly follow you everywhere you go? You haven't released a new movie since your last critical flop, and you're dating a fucking professional wrestler, Rohan. A fine one, but still. Why would they give a fuck about you now?" Shrugging, as though it should have been obvious to her friend, Lauren flopped back in her chair with a sigh. _

_But Rohan didn't want to hear it. Of course she had wondered all of those things, but she didn't want anyone else to wonder. Lauren's suspicions made hers that much more valid, and she didn't want them to be. She wanted to enjoy her ride. "Logan's just a guy, Lauren. A guy with a whole lot of business savvy and some great connections. He hooked me up with Jake," she started to explain, just as she had rationalized it to herself for months now._

_"And you don't think that's a coincidence?" When Rohan shot her another blank look, Lauren scoffed. "When they say that you have to sell your soul to Satan to even get a look from Jake Wildman, it's not just a figure of speech."_

_"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lauren," Rohan exclaimed, clearing her throat and lowering her voice when an older woman at the table next to her turned to glance their direction. "Logan is not the devil, okay? He just knows how the business works. He's teaching me how to have longevity in the industry."_

_"Like how to ignore your friends in order to become an A-lister?" Lauren interrupted. _

_Shaking her head, Rohan wondered why she had even bothered. Lauren had this crazy, delusional idea that Logan was powered by the Underworld, and she didn't seem interested in budging. "Look, I only told you because I can introduce you. Logan would love you," she started to explain._

_But Lauren was done listening. "Oh, no," she insisted, taking another bite of her salad, as if to tell her friend that they're conversation was over. "I'm not taking my chances," she stated firmly. "For the record, I hope I'm wrong," she added with a soft smile, the one that let Rohan know they were still okay, even if they would never agree. "Because if I'm not, I don't wanna know what this little arrangement is going to cost you."_

It was a coincidence that Lauren got the flu. As she stood from her place on the bathroom floor, Rohan tried to remember whether or not her friend was looking a little pale during their lunch the day before. She had turned pale, but Rohan knew that was more from the topic of conversation than her friend's immune system. But she had to have already been sick. Or maybe she got food poisoning. Maybe it was bad spinach. Hadn't she heard something about that on the news? She couldn't remember for sure, but she couldn't bring herself to consider the other possibility.

This couldn't have had anything to do with Logan. She hadn't even told him what she and Lauren had talked about. He knew that they'd had lunch. He knew that they were competing for the same role. But there was no way he could have known. . . and even if he had, it wouldn't matter. There would have been nothing he could have done. Nothing so severe. It wasn't like he was magical or anything.

Dialing the phone without thinking, Rohan waiting for the voice mail to pick up. "Logan, hey," she said quickly, unsure of just why she was calling him. "Look, my friend Lauren got sick last night. The flu or something, I guess." Laughing at the sheer notion in her head, she exhaled deeply. "Can you just give me a call? I have some good news." Disconnecting the call, she walked back out to the balcony and looked out at the overcast sky and the gray ocean. Lauren was crazy. Logan was fully human. And she was one step closer to being a real force in the industry. She had to believe that. Anything else was just ludicrous.


	11. The Plot Thickens

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 11: _"The Plot Thickens"

* * *

"So this is the infamous Aurora Rose, huh?" Logan smiled brightly as he extended his arms to take the small girl Stephanie McMahon offered him.

As the new parents beamed and babbled about the blessed addition to their family with their friend, Rohan looked around the backstage area of the wrestling pay-per-view she'd been forced to attend. She knew that she and Randy were scheduled to leave as soon as his match ended, flying to Vancouver to begin filming their new movie together, but she had argued that she could meet him just as easily at the airport. Of course, that was before Logan let her know that she and her so-called boyfriend were doing a cover shoot for Jane magazine before leaving town.

Why, she had asked, did they need to do a cover together? They hadn't even done a project together yet. Still, she couldn't argue with the fact that most of the tabloids had picked up on her faux-relationship. Entertainment Weekly had even dubbed them a Power Couple To Watch in the new year. She hated that Randy was riding her coattails to fame, but a small part of her knew that she still owed him for introducing her to Logan. Something told her she would always be indebted to him for that.

"What do you think, Rohan?" Logan's smooth voice interrupted her thoughts as he held the child away from his body and examined her perfect, pink, heart-shaped face. "This the cutest kid you ever saw or what?"

It was strange to see him with a baby in his arms. Not that Logan looked awkward or uncomfortable, but the visual was unexpected to Rohan. "She's pretty damn cute," she answered, smiling at Stephanie when the young mother grinned wildly and accepted her daughter back from Logan.

"I need to go find the nanny and my father," Stephanie spoke softly, a direct contradiction to the bitchy persona Randy had described to Rohan on numerous occasions. He was so sure that this woman was trying to screw him out of his championship opportunity, out of the position of power that he deserved in the company. But she seemed as meek as anyone Rohan had ever seen. Of course, everyone seemed somewhat more docile in Logan's presence.

Hunter kissed his wife and then turned back to Logan as she walked away. With a soft pat to Rohan's denim-covered knee, Logan leaned his head toward her. "Why don't you go wish your boyfriend good luck," he suggested, his grin breaking the stoic look on his face when she growled. "Play nice, Sweetheart," he instructed.

Doing as she was told, Rohan stood and wandered off in the direction that Logan had pointed. She had often wondered what the appeal of this madness had been for her benefactor. Why did Logan surround himself with professional wrestlers? Especially when his club was full of more respected performers and athletes? The question had nagged her constantly since she'd met him, and she couldn't deny that she had hoped attending would offer her some answers.

But they'd been in the building for over two hours, and she had seen nothing to suggest that these men were of any higher caliber than anyone else she knew in Hollywood. She couldn't deny that the events backstage moved as well as any television or film production she'd ever been a part of, but it didn't seem like anything more than that. Nothing that suggested any prestige.

Allowing herself a detour, Rohan moved through one of the tunnels, peeking into the empty arena. She took extra care to stay out of the way, knowing that the photographers would catch her in a second. They were growing more stealth by the day, it seemed, sneaking up on her when she least expected it. Coffee shops and boutiques had always been fodder for the paparrazzi, but it seemed she was now followed on cigarette runs to the gas station, and coming out of restaurant bathrooms. In the wide open of the WWE performance space, she would be like a free range head of cattle.

But as she stepped away from the protection of the tunnel wall, she realized that there was no one waiting. Stage hands assembled an elaborate set at the top of the entrance ramp, but nobody was waiting for her. Nobody seemed to notice her at all. There were no photographers popping up in the bleachers or sliding out from under the ring. The only flashes she saw were coming from the pyro technicians as they tested the evening's fireworks. It seemed as if nobody knew she was there, as if she were hiding in plain sight.

As she let herself out of the arena and back into the maze of hallways, she smiled to herself. She had her answer. She knew exactly why Logan surrounded himself with the likes of Taker, Triple H, Orton, and all of the others. He was hiding in plain sight. For a guy who's hands were on the pulse of every facet of entertainment, Logan was shy. Rohan had learned that early on. Not shy with people, but with attention. He didn't announce his arrival when they went anywhere other than Trinity. And even at his own club, he was impossible to see outside of a personal invitation.

He liked the anonymity of the wrestling community. They were entertainers, ones who fancied themselves real actors and athletes. Some had ambitions of moving into the NFL or ultimate fighting. Others, like Randy and some before him, dreamed of parlaying their ring success into movie superstardom. Even those who only wanted to be wrestlers, Randy had explained to her time and again, needed an edge to get ahead. She had assumed that he was alluding to the steroid scandals that plagued the company - his answers to every question were always vague and open to interpretation - but he hadn't been talking about drugs at all.

She had already seen several of the performers approach Logan since arriving. She had seen them all but beg for a minute of his time. But beyond that, she had seen front office personnel pitch him ideas and ask for favors. Some garnered a smile or a promise of a phone call. Others were politely rejected with a subtle nod toward Taker or another man she'd been introduced to as Mark Henry. She had even seen Vince McMahon himself, chairman of the board of directors of this dog and pony show, approach Logan, setting up a private meeting for later in the evening. It was a political circus and Logan was the ringmaster.

In return, he received bodyguards and under-the-radar muscle from guys looking for an edge. It was the perfect arrangement, Rohan realized, a smile spreading across her lips as she located the door labeled 'Rated RKO.' That was the group Randy was in now, right? RKO were his initials, so she went with her instinct and pushed the door open with her shoulder.

"We got company," a tall, blonde man shouted upon hearing the door. A red-headed woman sat at his side, listening to an iPod. When the pair's eyes rested on Rohan, they seemed surprised. "Holy shit," the man laughed, jumping up from his place to offer her a hand. "I thought Orton was dreamin' all this shit about datin' a movie star," he gushed.

Rohan excepted the handshake with the gracious smile she'd been practicing in the mirror since she was a child. "Nope," she lied through her teeth. Randy had been telling people about her? Of course he had. He was loving the fact that they were joined at the hip in the press. She was the best thing that had ever happened to his reputation. Sometimes she had to remind herself that he didn't feel as strapped to her as she did to him. "I'm as real as they come," she added with a nervous giggle.

The red head stood and made her way to Rohan. She wasn't very tall, but solid, with a friendly smile. "I'm Lita. This is Edge. Randy's tag partner," she explained as Rohan shook each of their hands. "Sorry if we seem totally geeked out. We've been big fans for awhile now," she explained shyly.

They seemed nice enough, Rohan thought. A little eager, but she had been like that once upon a time. Star-struck seemed to be a permanent setting for her. Before Logan. Before she had become one of the elite, she'd been just as shaken. "Thanks," she accepted their compliments and looked around the locker room, feeling inexplicably giddy. "So, is my man around?" she asked, trying hard not to choke on the words.

"Right here," Randy's voice boomed from the showers at the back of the locker room. Stepping into the room in a towel, he winked at Rohan and paid no attention to the other two. He saw them all the time. What the hell did he care if they were there? What had they ever done for him? "Where you been, baby?"

Rohan tilted her face and accepted his kiss as if to continue the show for the watchful eye of his coworkers. Truth be told, she enjoyed the feeling of Randy's savory kisses, the way they lingered on her lips long after they had separated. Not that she would ever let him know that. "I was chillin' with Logan," she explained, following him to the bench beside his locker and lowering herself to a seated position.

When Randy dropped his towel, she turned her head, her cheeks flushing. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him naked on numerous occasions, but it still shocked her. Especially in front of other people. Stealing another glance at the couple across the room, she noticed them sharing a furtive glance of their own. If she didn't know better, the mention of Logan's name caused a flinch and a fleeting look of fear between the couple. Had they crossed him? No, surely not. Edge wouldn't be in a main event match with Randy tonight if he'd crossed Logan in the past.

Randy dressed quickly and allowed Edge to tape his wrists as the two couples shared a light banter. Rohan could tell that Randy couldn't have been less interested in the conversation, being as it didn't center around him, but he pretended. He was getting better at that. Maybe the acting lessons she'd been giving him were paying off.

"You ready, man?" he finally asked Edge. The blonde man nodded, watching Randy skeptically. "Alright. I gotta find Logan." Leaving before the pair had a chance to say good-bye, Randy wrapped his arm around Rohan's shoulder and waved at some shrimp with a clipboard as he bustled by, trying to hear someone on the other end of his ear piece.

Finding Logan wasn't hard. He was in exactly the same place he had been when Rohan left him. But instead of WWE personnel, he was now surrounded by NFL and NBA players. Apparently, wrestling was big with actual athletes. Who knew?

Randy dropped his arm from Rohan's shoulder and wove his fingers through hers, greeting the football and basketball players. Rohan watched once again as Logan subtly nodded, dismissing the group and turning his attention to Randy. "Ready?" he asked. On the surface, it seemed like a chipper question. But Rohan could tell in glancing from one man to the other, that their eyes were anything but jovial. It was as if they were communicating without words.

_Telepathy?_ Shaking her head, Rohan nearly laughed out loud at the word that flitted through her mind. She was starting to sound like Lauren.

"Man," a gravelly voice interrupted the silence between the two. Three sets of eyes focused on the approaching man. "I left you three messages today," he spoke accusingly toward Logan.

Who the hell did he think he was? Rohan had never heard anyone take that tone with Logan, even Senators and studio heads. But Logan took it in stride, nodding as a backstage assistant walked past, handing him a Diet Coke. After he popped the tab and took a refreshing sip, Logan smiled reassuringly at the man next to him. "Relax, Shawn," he laughed. "I told you. It's a go," he promised.

"It's not me I'm worried about," he insisted through clenched teeth. "Logan," he started again, but stopped cold when Logan stood and sat his soda can on the table he'd been perched upon for the last couple of hours.

The men stood face to face, but Rohan had to assume that this Shawn had fifteen or twenty years on Logan. Appearance-wise anyway. She didn't know what the hell they were talking about, but Randy ran an easy finger over the skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants, completely focused on the interaction, but unphased by it at the same time. She knew she couldn't say anything about the memory that ran through her mind.

_"You got a show to put on. Do me a favor."_

_Randy nodded, one hand on the door handle and the other on his knee. "Anything, man." _

_"Keep an eye on Shawn for me. Got a weird call from him the other night." Randy nodded and exited the vehicle, as though he understood exactly what that meant. _

It had been nearly a month since Logan had issued the order to Randy, but Rohan hadn't forgotten. She never forgot anything Logan said. Mostly because everything he said brought up another set of questions she knew she may never have answered. But Logan was promising Shawn that he would be fine. Maybe whatever Randy had observed had saved this man from whatever fate would have otherwise awaited him?

"Thanks, man," Shawn finally relaxed his shoulders, accepting Logan's embrace. The pair simultaneously kissed each other's left cheek and then parted, Logan giving Shawn a firm pat on the shoulder.

As was always the case, Logan was true to his word. Shawn had nothing to worry about. He was safe. It was his tag team partner that should have been grovelling for mercy before the show. Especially after the way Randy had decimated his quad during the match. Rohan watched in horror from the backstage gorilla position as medics rushed into the arena. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. He wasn't supposed to actually get hurt.

At least, that's what she thought until the match's participants walked through the curtain after the match. Shawn rushed off to follow his friend to the training room while Edge raked his fingers through his hair, a sickening look of devestation on his pale face. Randy, however, unwound the blood-drenched tape from his wrists, a cold, satisfied expression on his handsome features. A chill ran down Rohan's spine as she followed him in the opposite direction of the commotion surrounding the fallen wrestler.

"What the fuck did you do?" she asked.

Randy just shrugged, barely hearing her. What did Rohan know? He didn't need to be bothered by her at the moment. He just needed to find Logan. "Where'd Logan go?" he asked.

"Meeting with Vince," Rohan answered under her breath, grabbing Randy's bicep when they were out of sight and earshot over everyone else. "A couple of months ago, at the club, Hunter told Logan that he couldn't be his bodyguard after the baby was born. Said he needed some time off," she reminded Randy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Randy shrugged again, knowing he could shake her off in a second if he really wanted to. "Get your fingernails outta my arm, woman," he warned.

But Rohan didn't let go. Her eyes grew wide as she began to piece the puzzle together. "Logan nodded at you that night. You nodded back. When I asked you what it was about, you acted like I was crazy, but I wasn't crazy," she insisted, quite proud of herself for solving yet another Logan mystery. Two in one night. She was on a roll. "You've been planning this for months, haven't you? Taking him out? Randy, I understand that there's a price to being on Logan's payroll. Trust me, I know that, but you can't punish a man for wanting to spend time with his family!"

Her voice was frantic, and working toward a frenzy quickly, so Randy didn't even think before his lips crushed against hers. Even though she tensed and punched his chest with both of her balled up fists, he just ran his tongue along her bottom lip and then pulled back with a smirk. If she knew how badly he'd wanted to smack her instead of kissing her, she would have been pleased with the kiss. Plus, she took a step back and shut her mouth, so he felt accomplished. "He wanted some time off," Randy spoke as nonchalantly as Logan would. "He's got some time off. What do you want?"

She didn't know why it bothered her so badly in that instant. She didn't even know Hunter. And she had meant it when she told Randy that she knew Logan's favors came with a price. But she couldn't stop thinking about that beautiful baby. About the way Hunter and Stephanie had looked at each other. About the blood-thirsty look in Randy's eyes after administering such crippling violence. "You could have ended his career!" she insisted.

Grabbing Rohan's shoulder, Randy held her tightly and pulled her to his body, paying no mind to the squeal of shock or the grimace of pain in her face. "Listen to me, Rohan. There's something you need to remember, okay? Logan doesn't force anybody into his service," he seethed, their faces mere inches apart. "Getting into business with him is strictly optional." He huffed and hissed. "Getting out is not."

With that, he pushed his stunned girlfriend away and set off in search of Logan. He didn't have time to fuck around with Rohan's self-righteous bull shit. She had been granted access into the inner circle of the most elite company in the world. Hell, she was playing him for information all the fucking time. She might of thought he didn't know, but he was well aware of how quickly, and how masterfully, Rohan was learning the 'everything costs something' lesson. How dare she demand an explanation from him? Who the fuck did she think she was?

As Randy disappeared around the corner, Rohan held her shoulder gingerly, her face registering shock at the events that had just transpired. Logan had known all along what Randy was going to do. He had held Aurora and told her father that she was the most beautiful little girl in the world, knowing that he was going to ruin his life by the end of the night. He hadn't even flinched, shown no remorse. As far as she could tell, Logan didn't even believe he'd done anything wrong.

Squaring her shoulders, Rohan made her third realization of the evening. These were her companions, the only two she surrounded herself with. One was a stone cold, violent assailant, content to do his master's bidding. The other was silver-tongued godfather, possessing a devestating combination of cunning and charm. Both conducted their business without question or remorse.

But Randy was right. Nobody had forced her into business with Logan. She had chosen her life, the life she had always dreamt of. And there was no going back. All she could do was accept it. Learn to use it to her advantage. And watch her back, just in case one of them decided to bury a knife in it.


	12. Playing Randy Orton

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 12: _Playing Randy Orton

* * *

He hadn't always been volatile. He hadn't always been explosive. In fact, there had been a time when Randy Orton could have been described as downright docile. His mother used to say she couldn't imagine how he was ever going to find the will to body slam another human being in the ring. She used to stroke his hair and tell him that she hoped he found success, but that she wasn't sure it would be in wrestling. _Too violent for her sweet boy_, she would whisper just before kissing him on the cheek and asking him to load the dish washer. There had been a sweet boy inside of him once upon a time.

But he had been determined to prove her wrong. Determined to prove everyone wrong. Everyone who said that he would never rise above the Orton glass ceiling. That he would never be anything more than a sidekick, just like his old man. That he would never hold the gold. Never be the Champion. Never step into the spotlight for himself. Determination, mixed with alpha male ego and sheer pride, had driven him out of his father's footsteps. Out of Triple H's shadow. Into that very spotlight for himself.

Everyone said that it happened too fast, that he wasn't ready for it. Randy knew that hadn't been the problem at all. He had been damn ready. They just weren't ready for him. Not for the kind of ruthless aggression Vince claimed to want, but couldn't seem to wrap his head around when someone actually displayed it.

They couldn't handle him, and they did the only thing they could when backed into a corner: they slapped him back down. They drove him to his knees. They thought they had broken him, but Randy Orton was nowhere near done fighting for his spot atop the pro-wrestling world. And on the day that he had learned he would be unceremoniously dumped from Evolution's ranks, he made a decision. Nobody was going to shit on him, kick him while he was down, or doubt him again. He was going to climb back to the top on his own, and he was going to spit in every one of their faces along the way.

They were wrong. Every one of them that looked at him with disgust in their eyes, with contempt over the 'antics' that he pulled, as they liked to call his actions. They were all wrong. Success hadn't changed him. It was having it stripped from him for no damn good reason that had changed it. He could bitch and moan about it, but as far as he was concerned, there was no point. In fact, if he was a grateful kind of guy anymore, he would thank them. Thank them for shoving him into that desperate place. That hollow shell of longing where his salvation awaited. Where Logan welcomed him with waiting arms. Where he was reborn.

The kid who used to help his mom around the house and cry when his dad didn't show up for one of his baseball games was a distant memory, one that not even Randy cared to clearly remember anymore. That was how it had to be. No attachments. No distractions. No weakness. He was so close to proving himself, to showing them that he could do it, that he wasn't wasted potential. He was so close to being the one they all swore he would never be. So close to shoving it down every one of their miserable, fucking throats. He couldn't afford to take his eyes off the prize. Or let anyone else pull his focus.

Puffing on a cigarette, he looked up from the television as Rohan moved through the hotel suite they were sharing. Talk about distractions. It was bad enough that he had to work with her every day, and that she was so damn good at what she did. He was fairly certain he'd forget his own name if she looked at him with that love-struck schoolgirl gaze one more time. Of course, it was a character that she was playing, and that's what he found the most distracting. Not the scripted words of promise that she whispered when the cameras were rolling, but the icy silence that engulfed them the moment they got into the limo to head back to the hotel.

She hadn't spoken to him since their confrontation in the hallway more than a week ago. Not out of character, anyway. And it was starting to fuck with his head more than he liked to admit. "McOrton watch is on E! News again," he announced, pointing to the television show where a still photograph of the pair appeared on the screen. The couple nickname was as ridiculous as the attention that they were getting, but Randy wasn't complaining. He was on E! nightly and tabloid covers weekly. Not even Rock could say that.

In the picture, Rohan was standing in front of him, staring up into his eyes as though no one else existed. Randy's hands rested on her hips easily and a soft smile played on his lips around the cigarette dangling from his mouth. If he didn't recognize it as a scene from the film, he would have bought that they were in love, just as the show was gossiping. "Turns out, we can't keep our hands off each other," he added with a chuckle when she huffed.

Rohan stared at Randy, her eyes narrowed as he turned from his place on the couch and winked at her. Tilting her water to her lips, she ran a hand over her messy ponytail and shrugged, pushing off of the counter and moving back toward her bedroom. They could say whatever they wanted. If it kept interest in the film this far before it's release, she could handle it. She could live with the perception. She just wasn't sure she could live with the man.

Ignoring him for a week hadn't been that hard. Except when he gave her those hungry eyes, the look that was always accompanied by a sexy smirk and the rolling of his tongue over his bottom lip. The one that said he would bend her over the back of the couch in a flash if she would let him. But then he opened his mouth, and she heard his obnoxious, resonating baritone, and walking away wasn't all that hard. Of course, once they had retreated to separate rooms for the evening, he made no attempt to muffle his moaning and groaning when he knew damn well she was trying to sleep. If he could have, he would have brought a girl home to take her place, she knew. But appearances were everything, and they couldn't risk someone thinking that there was trouble in their proverbial paradise. So he took matters into his own hands. Loudly. Nightly. And it was nearly killing Rohan.

If she could get the thought of his angry eyes from her head, if she couldn't still feel the rush of his hot breath and the hateful hiss of his words in that hallway out of her head, she could give in to her carnal urges. She didn't trust Randy, and the desire to push him off the balcony of their honeymoon suite was just as strong, if not more persistent, than any physical desire she had for his Adonis-like form.

Randy's eyes followed Rohan as she disappeared into her separate space, and he couldn't take it anymore. Standing, he extinguished his cigarette into the ashtray on the glass-topped coffee table and followed her, pushing the door open without invitation. With his arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her for a long moment as she reclined on her bed, a thick script open at her side. "How long you gonna keep ignoring me, Ro?" he asked.

_Forever_, she wanted to scream. But that would constitute conversation. And she wasn't having those with him. Ever again, if she could help it. She might be indebted to Logan, but she didn't feel a particularly loyal sense of obligation to the dumb ass in her doorway at the moment. Instead of responding with words, she raised her middle finger without meeting his eye and drew her script back into her lap.

"Alright, fine," Randy nodded in concession. "You wanna play this game? Wanna see who has more stamina? We can do that. I can stand here just as long as you can ignore me." Leaning against the door frame, he smirked when she rolled her eyes and went back to reading. He meant it. All night, well into the next day, he would keep right on standing in the doorway. They could miss call tomorrow, and for the rest of their stay in Canada, for all he cared. She wasn't going to keep pretending like he wasn't there. The shit was gonna stop. Or hit the fan. Either way, she was gonna talk to him.

For nearly twenty minutes, Rohan managed to focus on the words before her instead of the man a few feet away. Even when Randy started whistling, she was able to tune him out. And then her bladder began to ache. The water she'd been consuming was begging for release and the only way to the bathroom was past the obnoxious hurdle at the entrance of her room. _I'll just kick him in the nuts_, she reasoned, setting her script aside and rolling off the bed.

Like something out of an old western, Randy and Rohan watched each other as she walked closer. Each challenging the other to hold their position. To dare to try and outlast the other. Stopping inches from him, Rohan raised her hand and ran a fingernail over Randy's collarbone. She felt him relax instantly and couldn't help smiling to herself. Training her eyes on his muscular chest, she trailed a path over his warm skin, between his pecs, over his abs, and around his navel. When his breathing hitched, she continued moving her hand lower.

If Randy really thought that she would continue touching him like that, he would have let her. But he was a step ahead. She wanted him to let her, to fulfill both of their building desires. She wanted him to take her up in his arms and walk her to the bed. So that she could roll them over and walk away. So that she could win. Little did she know, he wasn't a big fan of losing.

Trapping her hand against the waistband of his pants, he shook his head when she let out a groan. "Just get the fuck outta my way, ass hole," Rohan finally exploded, hating herself the second Randy moved out of her way and let her pass easily.

But he didn't let up. He followed her. Into the bathroom. Watched himself in the mirror as she lowered her jeans and sank to the toilet. Stood there, as though they could have any kind of meaningful conversation while she was trying to take a piss. As if it wasn't the absolute most humiliating thing he could have possibly done to her. But she wasn't about to let him know that he was that far under her skin. He didn't deserve to know. As far as she was concerned, she didn't need any more reasons to hate him, but he just kept piling them on. Like he was trying to make her case for her.

After she had washed her hands, Randy followed her into the living room and sank to the couch, patting the seat beside him. "Now that we got that outta the way," he smiled as though all of their problems had been solved. "Why don't you sit your sweet ass down and tell me what's on your mind, Princess."

"Fuck you," she growled, lowering herself into the chair beside the couch. "You wanna know what's on my mind? You," she finally said. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty to say to him. It had been running through her mind all week. She had a laundry list of his sins to expose. About a million offenses to call him on. But if she had learned one thing in her months inside the fold of Logan, it was that Randy Orton was not going to respond to accusations. It was going to take finesse and a special line of questioning. It was going to take careful planning. And more than coming up with her 'Why I Hate Randy Orton' list, she had been formulating that scheme. "I can't figure you out," she admitted, praying that he still couldn't tell the difference between Rohan the person and Rohan the actress. "Who are you? How did you get here? What's your deal?"

If there was one thing Randy had learned about Rohan, it was that she always wanted more information. It was never enough for her to just take what she had been given and run with it. It had never been enough to just accept the attention and the breaks at face value. She always wanted more. Always had to ask a million fucking questions. "What does it matter?" he shrugged, leaning forward to grab his cigarette pack from the table. After he'd lit it, he leaned back on the couch and propped his feet up on the expensive coffee table.

_At least he stopped putting his shoes on the glass_, Rohan thought to herself. "Maybe it doesn't," she admitted honestly, sinking back into the chair. "Look, you and Logan are the two people that I spend the most time with now. You guys are my closest friends. At least, that's what they all think," she motioned to the window. "And if, indeed, perception is reality, like you guys always say, then I think it's pretty damn ironic that the man I'm supposedly so in love with is the man I know the least about in the world."

So he wasn't the one she knew the least about. She knew even less about Logan than she knew about Randy, but googling Logan didn't exactly bring up the basic information that a Randy search gave her. But Rohan was well-aware that she would never break Logan. He would never tell her everything she wanted to know. Randy was her only hope at peering behind the curtain. And the easiest way to get to him was through his favorite subject. Randy Orton.

"So what do you wanna know?" he asked. If there was one thing Randy had never been good with, it was interviews. Sure, he liked to talk about himself in the locker room. And in staff meetings. And at family gatherings. And at parties. And pretty much any time he had a captive audience. But there was something about someone sitting down and asking him vague, open-ended questions that still made him nervous. What if he said the wrong thing? Gave something away? What if he spilled information he wasn't supposed to spill? It was too risky. So he avoided it as much as possible.

Slipping out of her chair and onto the couch, Rohan drew her legs up to her chest and started as simply as she could. "Tell me what St. Louis is like," she requested.

His eyebrow shot up in confusion. "What?" he asked. St. Louis? As in his hometown? "Why?"

But Rohan just rolled her eyes. Not like she could just ask "Have you heard that Logan is the devil? Is it true?" She had to get in on the ground level. She had to be careful. She had to convince him that she cared. That she was on his side. "Because that's where you grew up, right?" He nodded, still looking more suspicious than she would have liked. "Well, I've never been there. Tell me what it's like. Or what it was like when you lived there. Did you like it? What kind of shit did you do growing up? Where'd you party?"

He considered her for a long moment before answering. Was she trying to play him? If she wanted information, she could have just sucked his dick. That's what she usually did when she wanted him to tell her something. She could have taken her shirt off and climbed into his lap if she wanted dirt on Logan. "It was cool, I guess. I mean, it ain't tropical there or nothin', but it's pretty warm for most of the year. And it's right on the river, ya know, so lotta my friends had boats," he began to speak without noticing that his mouth was moving.

If she wanted to know about Logan, she would have found a way to ask, but she wasn't. For the first time since he'd introduced them, she hadn't even brought him, or his hand in their success, into the conversation. She was asking about him. Only him. He wasn't totally sold that she was sincere, but he couldn't seem to help talking to her about his high school antics, and his time in the military, and the early days of his career.

For more than three hours, Rohan listened to Randy speak. She fought not to roll her eyes on a few occasions, but when he started smiling, she felt herself relaxing. Maybe she wouldn't get around to the real questions tonight. Maybe she wouldn't learn anything about her present situation. But she had two more weeks in this hotel room with him to find that stuff out. They were both tied to Logan, and therefore connected to each other, for the long haul. And while she knew she would never trust Randy, that she couldn't trust him, she realized that she didn't have to. She just had to find something about him that she liked. Something that would keep her from killing him in his sleep. Not because she didn't think he deserved it, but because she was pretty sure Logan wouldn't approve.


	13. Just Gettin' Started

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 13: _Just Gettin' Started

* * *

The obnoxious ring tone that Randy had set for himself on Rohan's phone blared into the stillness of the California afternoon, causing her to jump and groan. Though things between them had gotten better in Vancouver, she wasn't about to admit that she was developing anything remotely close to feelings for her alleged boyfriend. If she was catching anything, it was the cold he had developed over the last few days. "Hello," she answered, her voice irritated as she stepped out of her car in front of a dark little restaurant in West Hollywood.

"Hey," Randy greeted, sounding every bit as perturbed as she felt. His layover in Cleveland had been extended by three hours and he was ready to bite the next head that he saw right off. He could only pray that some hapless soul would give him a reason to snap.

Hitching her silver bag over her shoulder, Rohan locked her car and waited for a passing car before crossing the street toward the restaurant. "You make it to Jersey alright?" she asked, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear as a photographer snapped a photo of her from somewhere to her left. She didn't bother to cast him a glance. She was already running late.

With a huff, Randy stepped through the front doors of his hotel and glanced around at the modest digs. Not the nicest place he'd ever stayed, but definitely not the worst. "Yeah," he answered, handing his credit card to the hostess at the counter without so much as a smile. Normally, he would try to charm her, but he wasn't in the mood. "Smells like eggs, but I made it okay," he complained, turning to cast a glance over the lobby as the woman brought his reservation up on her computer screen.

"Glad to hear it," Rohan responded distractedly as she stepped into the dimly-lit restaurant and looked to the back of the room to the bar, waving in recognition as she headed in that direction. "Look, I'm having lunch with Logan and I'm already running late," she spoke in a clipped tone that she prayed he could understand.

And Randy did understand. She was back home. With Logan. Most of her time would be spent with him now. Nothing he could do but accept it. "Just remember what we talked about," he reminded her, as though she could forget. "Call me later. Fill me in."

She mumbled an agreement as Logan rose from his place at the bar to place a kiss on her cheek. "You look more amazing than I remember, Rohan," he said softly, watching as she lowered herself to the empty bar. "How was your trip?"

For the first time since she'd met him, Rohan wished she was somewhere other than with Logan. She wished that she was at home, soaking in a bath and thinking about the endless conversations she and Randy had shared in Canada. She wished that she'd had a little more time to prepare herself for Logan's presence. She wished that he hadn't called her as soon as she stepped off the plane, as if he had been watching and timing her every move.

"It was good," she answered shortly, placing her bag at her feet and resting her elbows on the bar. "I like this place," she nodded, praying that he hadn't already ordered for her. The last thing she wanted was some froofy salad with vinaigrette dressing. She was in the mood for something hearty, and all together bad for her.

When the waiter dropped an enormous plate of nachos before them, Logan slid him a tip across the bar and tipped his beer glass to his lips. "This place has the best bar food I've ever had," he smiled as he popped a loaded tortilla chip into his mouth. When Rohan just huffed and helped herself to the Corona bottle the bartender had delivered, Logan tilted his head to the side. "You've got something on your mind," he stated.

She couldn't help the amused chuckle that came from the back of her throat. Of course he knew that. He knew everything, didn't he? He was Logan, for fuck's sake. "Always," she responded, biting into a chip of her own. He was right about one thing. They were some damn good nachos.

"Come on, Rohan," Logan encouraged, his body turning toward hers as he swiveled on his bar stool. "What's up with the distance? You've been distracted for the last month. Ever since you went to Canada." He wasn't a stupid man. When would women learn that he could read them, that they weren't nearly as coy as they thought they were? That he wasn't stumped or confused by them like some men were?

Taking a long drink of her beer, Rohan tried to think of what to say next. If she'd had more time, she could have prepared for him. She could have come up with an acceptable answer. Of course, he was Logan, so he would obviously know her bull shit. But it might have made her feel better, at least. "Look," she decided to play it straight. Randy told her that there was no point in lying to Logan. It wasn't like she had a choice. "I saw some shit that just didn't settle with me, okay? I saw a side of you that I'm not sure I like." She wouldn't tell him that she didn't trust him, but she wouldn't forget it, either.

Drawing back, Logan met her stern eye with a blank one of his own. What was she talking about? A side of him that she didn't like? When had he ever shown her anything but compassion and friendship? "What are you talking about?" he asked.

She didn't know whether or not to buy his 'dumb' act. He was Logan, after all. If Lauren was right, he could read her mind. If Randy was, he could read her body language. Either way, she knew that he wasn't completely oblivious. "What you did to Hunter was straight up shady," she accused, though she hadn't meant for it to come out quite so harshly. Pointing a finger in his direction wasn't going to solve anything.

"Whoa," Logan held up a hand at the tone and shook his head. "What I did to Hunter? I didn't do anything to Hunter, Rohan," he defended easily, his cool exterior firmly in place. "Are you talking about his injury?" She just shrugged and kept her eyes trained of the plate between them. "It's a dangerous business, Sweetie," he smiled softly, his warm hand coming into contact with the expanse of her back as he rubbed it reassuringly. "Guys get hurt. It's unfortunate, but it happens sometimes."

She didn't want to believe him. She could still remember clearly everything she had seen that night. She knew that Randy had hurt Hunter on Logan's orders. In her gut, she knew it. But she couldn't prove it. Maybe she could trip Logan into a confession. Anything to get his hand off of her, to stop him from making her feel more affectionate and less suspicious. "So he just happened to get hurt right after telling you that he wanted time off to be with his family?"

Withdrawing his hand, Logan popped another chip into his mouth and wiped his hand on the napkin before him. "Hunter told me he was going to need some time off months ago, Rohan. And I told him it was fine." Nodding his head, he seemed to be trying to remind her of the night she had witnessed at Trinity. "You know I take care of my friends, Rohan," he added.

"And I also know that those friends pay a high price for letting you down," she shot before she could stop herself. Dammit, that was something she could have left unsaid. He was setting her perfectly-planned arguments on their ear, and Rohan found herself draining the rest of her beer bottle without coming up for air. Where was Randy when she really needed him? He could have kept her on track. Of course, knowing Randy, he would have helped her lodge her foot further down her throat, just because he found it amusing.

For a long moment, Logan didn't speak. Only watched the young woman at his side with careful eyes. Something had upset her, something beyond whatever she thought she had seen that night at the pay per view. Something that she wasn't willing to share with him. Or that she was too scared to share. With one hand on his glass, Logan reached the other across the chasm between them and rested it over Rohan's knee. "Rohan," he spoke easily.

The mere sound of his voice speaking her name cracked a bit of her shell, much to Rohan's chagrine. She didn't want to be the girl that melted at a man's touch. She didn't want to be the one who turned to mush just because he said her name. But dammit if Logan didn't have some power over her. Supernatural or not, the jury was still out, but she knew that it was something. Something powerful. "What?" she managed to squeak, raising her eyes to meet him.

"Sweetheart, people need reason. They need to believe that things happen for a purpose, that everything can be explained away somehow." He turned fully toward her and wove his fingers through hers against the bar. "So they talk. About you. About me. About things they could never possibly know about or understand." Tilting his head to the side, he watched her nod in agreement, as though what he was saying made sense to her. "Are they always right about you? With the reports and the rumors?"

She knew that he was right. People talked. A lot. The tabloids talked about her, but people in the industry talked about Logan. Everyone had an opinion or a theory. That didn't mean that they were all right. They were just trying to explain what they didn't understand. It didn't change what she had seen with her own eyes. Didn't change the suspicions. Not after the things Randy had told her. "You're right," she agreed. He was. What was she going to do? Deny it?

Logan nodded and returned to the plate for another chip. "I have associates in a lot of high places, Rohan," he started cryptically, his eyes wandering around the bar and then back to her. "I'm not going to deny that all of my business dealings are not completely above the table. You're smarter than that," he acknowledged. If there was anything that Logan had learned about his line of work over the years, it was that honey would attract far more flies than vinegar.

She knew full-well that he was just trying to flatter her. But even knowing it didn't stop the pride from welling up inside of her. "Can I level with you?" she asked him, a small smile tweaking the corner of her lips when he shot her a look that said he wouldn't expect anything less from her. "You scare the shit out of me," she blurted. It wasn't exactly what she had intended to say, and definitely not in the way she intended to say it, but it was the truth. "You can call them rumors, Logan, and I expect you to, quite frankly, but I've been around this business long enough to know that nothing is free. I try not to think about it, but I can't help wondering what this little arrangement is going to cost me in the long run."

She was far more inquisitive than any of his past clients, colleagues, or friends had been. And if Logan was completely honest, it intrigued him to no end. She said she was afraid, but she certainly wasn't too scared to call him to the table on the things that didn't make sense to her. She could claim to look the other way and pretend that she didn't know what was going on, but she didn't. And beyond all explanation, it was turning him on in ways he'd never experienced. He was starting to think that a woman who challenged him might actually be better than one who surrendered to his mere touch. At least he wasn't bored with Rohan.

"Sweetheart," he sighed, smiling brightly as he rested his hand on her knee again. "We've moved beyond business," he answered her, his hand sliding up her smooth thigh. He watched as her eyes drifted shut and her breath hitched in her throat.

It wasn't an answer. Not really. He hadn't given her anything to work with, no clue as to where she fit into his master plan. She knew why Randy had chosen her - he had told her as much on the ride to the airport. But she had no idea why Logan had deemed her worthy of his inner circle. She was no closer to getting inside his head than she had been on the day she met him. And that didn't make her any more trusting than she had been when she walked into the bar and sat down beside him.

But none of it seemed to matter when his silken touch stroked her skin. When he leaned forward and held her chin between his thumb and index finger, she didn't care that she didn't trust him. She could deal with that later. Opening her heavy eyes, she met his gaze just inches from her face. "Logan," she breathed.

But he only shook his head and pressed a soft kiss to the end of her nose. "Relax, Rohan," he whispered. Leaning back on his stool, he tossed a few large bills onto the counter and stood, extending his hand to her. "Enjoy the ride, Sweetheart," he winked, his arm hooked loosely around her waist as they walked through the empty bar together. "We're just gettin' started."


	14. A New Player

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 14: _'A New Player'

* * *

It had been awhile since the press had gotten a look at one of Hollywood's hottest couples out on the town together. It had been a hot minute since Rohan and Randy had been in the same place at the same time at all. Mostly because work kept them both busy, but because they had both made a conscious effort to stay apart. The only thing that the paparazzi loved more than a couple who couldn't be apart was one that was rarely seen together. It added to the mystery, to the illusive nature of the beast that had become McOrton.

But after a month of time away, the pair agreed that it was time to step out again. Even Randy had to admit that Rohan's idea of keeping their distance was genius. She had never looked more stunningly amazing as she did sitting across from him at dinner. And the way her body moved against him at the various clubs they hit felt better than anything he'd experienced in a long time. Maybe it was true. Maybe distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

But as far as Rohan was concerned, time apart didn't just mean that they didn't see each other. It meant that they had no contact whatsoever. Randy's ten phone calls a day hardly equalled 'space' in her book. Of course, she had to admit that having his hands and his eyes all over again didn't completely suck. And while photographers were crazy for her without him, she couldn't deny that they were downright rabid when the pair was together. It felt good to be so desired. She'd almost forgotten that.

"Ready?" his deep timber ripped through the back of the limo as it slowed to a stop outside the back entrance of Trinity. Shaking the few paparazzi that dared follow them through the darkened alleys hadn't been what Randy would call 'fun' but he knew that Logan would shit Frisbees if any of those guys caught a glimpse of the clientele at Trinity.

They were alone now, though. At least alone enough to slip under cover of Logan's biggest bodyguard - Big Show. He provided a perfect shield from the possibility of any errant flashbulbs and once they had entered the kitchen area of the club, Rohan allowed herself to breathe. Just a few more minutes and she would see Logan again. Though she hadn't been as distant from him in the last month as she had been with Randy, it had been awhile since she'd seen her benefactor. He seemed to be far busier than usual.

And while Rohan wasn't sure how she felt about either of the men at the moment, she knew that weeks without Logan definitely left an empty place in her gut that she couldn't explain. Even working on a new project didn't seem to provide enough of a distraction from the questions that insisted on popping their annoying heads up at the worst of times. Was he done with her? Was he moving on to someone else? Had she outgrown her usefulness? Was he spending his time plotting her demise?

"Relax," Randy's voice caressed her ear as they slipped from the bar to the steps leading toward the VIP without being noticed. Truth be told, he was ready to see Logan, too. He had plans to discuss. Situations that needed to be dealt with. And if he was going to get his Wrestlemania main event as promised, he needed to make that happen soon. He just needed the go-ahead from his fearless leader. Plus, there was another movie role he was interested in, and letting Logan know that couldn't hurt, either.

Stepping through the curtain into Logan's inner-sanctum, Rohan felt herself trying to contain the giggle that threatened to spill over her lips. She didn't trust him. Wasn't even sure she liked him all that much still, but the thought of seeing him again was turning her into a school girl. If she could just see him, just feel his hand on her back or his brief kiss on her cheek, she would know that she was being silly. Paranoid, even. She just needed to see him to know that she was okay.

Preparing for the customary hug that always greeted her arrival, Rohan stopped short behind the first of the black leather couches, causing Randy to stumble against the heel of her shoe. "Dammit woman," he cursed under his breath, turning to look at what had stopped her progress so abruptly. Shit. Logan. Fuck.

Logan's characteristic book ends, as Randy liked to call the blond and the brunette normally seated at his leader's side, were nowhere to be found. In their place was one statuesque blond. One that Randy recognized only from pictures in Rohan's apartment. Snuggled up to Logan's side, sipping on a flute of champagne, was an undeniable force he hadn't planned on reckoning with.

"Hey, guys," Logan grinned brightly, never leaving his seat to welcome them. Instead, he pointed to the couch in front of them. "Sit. Rohan, I believe you already know Lauren Cohen."

Oh, Rohan knew Lauren. She knew her better than she knew most people. And she could clearly remember a time this very same Lauren sat across from her at lunch, declaring the vile, evil nature of one Satan-incarnate himself, Logan. So what the fuck was she doing in Rohan's place, all snuggled up next to the very man she claimed to fear and detest? What the fuck had happened in the last couple of weeks? Was this little tart the reason Logan hadn't been returning her phone calls? Who the fuck did he think he was?

Waving her perfectly manicured hand, Lauren pushed a stray blond curl behind her ear and flashed her friend a brilliant white smile. "Hi, Ro," she greeted as though they were on the cheer leading squad together. "Logan was just saying that he thought you'd be stopping by tonight."

"What the fuck is going on?" she asked, the question directed more at the woman than the man. She knew better than to demand anything, even information from him.

But Lauren didn't have a chance to answer as Logan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Lauren and I had lunch a couple of weeks ago. After all the raving you did about her talent, Rohan, I had to meet her for myself."

After all of the ranting she had done? What the fuck? When had Rohan raved about Lauren? Why would she do that? Oh, right. Because she thought that Lauren would be the perfect compliment for Logan's stable. She had tried to get Lauren to take a meeting with Logan, hadn't she? But that was before she realized that he would push Rohan to the back burner, and give her seat at his left hand away. What the fuck was he thinking? Lauren didn't have half the chops she had. She was a Sci-Fi, cult character actress for God's sake. What could she possibly bring to the table that Rohan hadn't already brought in spades?

When Lauren ran her fingernails over the back of Logan's charcoal suit jacket, Randy secured an arm around the back of Rohan's seat and gently squeezed her shoulder. Fuck. He had a plan for the evening. Rohan was supposed to be running her hand up Logan's thigh, like she always did. And then, while he was distracted, Randy was going to introduce his plan. His perfect plan. This blond bitch wasn't going to help, especially the more angry Rohan got. This night was quickly becoming about someone other than him. And as far as Randy was concerned, that was unacceptable.

As each of the players around the room shifted and postured for position, the air between them fell heavy with tension. The only person still smiling was Lauren. _She probably doesn't have a damn clue that she's not welcome here_, Rohan thought. _Stupid bimbo_. She wasn't even capable of stepping to the same plate that Rohan and her boys were playing at. How dare she?

Eyes darting back and forth, Randy quickly assessed the situation before him. Rohan might think she was some Oscar-worthy actress, but she sure as hell couldn't fake her emotions at the moment. She was about to blow. And if she was allowed to do that, things would get very ugly in a hurry. Logan wouldn't tolerate a scene, even from his number one starlet. If she was even his number one still.

Clearing his throat, he ran the back of his hand across his lips and then caught Logan's eye. "Can I talk to you for a minute, man?" Logan nodded and withdrew his arm from the back of Lauren's seat, resting his elbows on his knees, fully intent on the man before him. "Alone?" Randy had learned to speak volumes with his eyes since getting into business with Logan, and his mentor seemed to understand him easily this time.

With a nod, Logan rolled his shoulders and tugged on the sleeves of his dark suit coat, turning his attention back to the women at his side. "Ladies, why don't you go get yourselves a drink?"

Rohan watched with disgust as Lauren dutifully nodded, giggled, and stood without question. She followed suit, fluidly standing from the couch and casting a glance to the men as she left. They both watched until she had disappeared behind the curtain and she found herself smirking at the fact that she could still hold their attention. That had to count for something, didn't it?

"Oh my God, Ro," Lauren bubbled as they moved down the hallway of the VIP section. Her eyes danced with pure joy as she approached the stairs. "Isn't Logan the most amazing man you've ever met?"

Rohan said nothing as she stepped in front of Lauren at the stairs and began her descent. If she upset Lauren, Logan would know. And he would be pissed. That would be dangerous for Rohan. If she knew anything, it was that Logan wasn't a man to be angered. "Thought he was the devil," she suggested with as much mirth as she could muster.

The chortle that erupted from Lauren's lips was nearly enough to launch Rohan from the bottom stair to the floor face-first. "I don't know what I was thinking," Lauren laughed loudly again as they reached the fringe of the dance floor. "I mean, I can be a little crazy with the whole 'supernatural' thing sometimes, I suppose," she rolled her eyes and thanked the waitress as she withdrew a champagne glass from a passing tray. "He's the furthest thing from Satan," Lauren giggled again as she sipped her drink. "Satan," she shook her head again as she mumbled the word under her breath.

_Mmm hmm_, Rohan thought to herself as she sauntered toward the bar. When the waiter handed her a drink without her having to order it, she nodded her thanks and turned, resting her elbows on the bar. Fuck Lauren. This was her empire. She was the one who had sold her soul to the devil himself to live the life she had always dreamt of living. She was the one who had done everything asked of her in order to sit at Logan's right hand. Fuck Lauren and her bleached hair and horrible breast implants and her fuckin' Trekkie fans.

Her eyes drifted over Trinity. On second thought, Lauren could fuck herself. Rohan had already laid down and shed her personal dignity to fuck Randy, the most arrogant man on Planet Earth. She wasn't in the mood to fuck anyone else at the moment.

--

"Have you talked to Vince, man?" Randy asked when Taker signaled through the curtain that the girls were out of ear shot. He could give a fuck less about them at the moment. They were just distractions. He didn't come to Trinity to be seen with Rohan, or to watch her send venomous glares at some blond broad she felt threatened by. And he sure as hell didn't come to watch Logan get off on the power of having two women battle for his attention.

Logan just chuckled and leaned back in his seat, his champagne glass dangling easily between his fingers. "Orton," he smiled and shook his head, "relax, man," he advised. "I haven't seen you in weeks, and you wanna talk shop?" It was as though Randy Orton had a one-track mind. Most of the time, Logan found it admirable, but tonight, he wasn't in the mood. Not while he'd rather be feeling Lauren's legs.

But Randy wasn't about to be deterred. Standing, he ran his hands over his hair and growled. He knew that Logan wouldn't be intimidated, but he was frustrated. It was his gut reaction in times like this. "Just fuckin' tell me I'm gettin' my title shot." When Logan raised his eyebrow at the demand, Randy felt his temper rising. "I have busted my ass for you, man," he started to rant. "You said that I would get my shot if I took out the obstacles," he reminded. "Hunter's gone. What's fuckin' left? Who's standin' between me and Cena? Huh?"

It took everything in Logan not to shake his head at the young man. Randy was his friend, even though nobody seemed to understandy why. Randy was brash, loud, and the life of the party. He loved being the center of attention. Logan envied that. He knew, though, that keeping a low profile was the only way to protect his power. Randy was everything Logan would be, if he could step out of the shadows and let himself be seen and heard.

It was too bad that Randy could never really understand the game in which he was such an integral part. Sometimes Logan wished that he could show Randy just how many strings had to be pulled, how many hands had to be greased, just to get the young Legend Killer all of the things that he thought he had 'earned.' He wasn't the center of Logan's universe, and he never could be. There were rare, brief moments when it pained Logan that he couldn't just cultivate normal friendships. But such was the nature of the business. And the business was his life. Even Orton, who he considered the closest thing to a friend he had, couldn't know just how much of a fringe player he really was in the grand scheme of things.

"I got another movie deal for ya," Logan said as he rested his ankle against the opposite knee and stretched his arm over the back of the couch. Sometimes he felt like a fucking magician. Diversion and distraction were such a part of his daily life that he couldn't imagine a time when it had been difficult. If he was honest, it had always been natural. Puppet master was a role he was born to play, so to speak.

Even though Randy had fully intended on discussing more film roles with Logan, he could give a fuck less about them at the moment. And why was Logan trying to evade his question? How hard was it to just give the nod and let Randy know that it was okay to proceed? All he needed was the go-ahead. They were only a little more than a month away from Wrestlemania, and creative had their heads up their asses with this three-way race to the Championship thing going on. If he didn't find out soon, he was going to hurt someone without permission. And that wouldn't be pretty for anyone.

"Man, fuck the movies," he exploded, his anger getting the better of him. "I want my fucking title. I deserve that belt, Logan, and you know it." His eyes conveyed pure conviction as he allowed his gaze to bore through the young man on the couch. He knew exactly who Logan thought he was, but he was sick and tired of pretending that he gave a damn. If he didn't start making things happen for Randy, heads were gonna roll.

It didn't take a psychic to feel the anger and contempt washing over Orton. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was at his breaking point. If he were anyone else, Logan might have actually been scared for a moment. Randy Orton could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be. That's why he was so useful. Fortunately for Logan, he didn't have to worry. Orton was all bark and no bite. At least, when it came to Logan. "Man, listen," he started, motioning for Randy to sit again. Even if he didn't have anything to fear, Logan thought he might feel more comfortable if Randy had a seat and stopped towering over him.

Randy hesitated and then sat, his shoulders tense from confrontation. Logan didn't even have to tell him that he wasn't getting his shot at 'Mania for him to know. He didn't have to tell him that Shawn Michaels was cashing in that old favor he kept grumbling about every time he was in the same room with Logan. He didn't have to say the words for Randy know that he had been pushed down the line once more, and it was pissing him off in a way that felt foreign and unnatural to Randy.

Frightening thoughts began to pop into his head: _How hard could it be to just snap his neck? With Logan out of the way, I could own this place. I could do it better than he fuckin' does, that's for sure. Logan has this fucked up system of ethics that get in his way. We could do so much more. I could do more. This could be mine. One move, he'd be dead at my feet, and it would all be mine. _

He could do it, he knew. With his bare hands. No question. He also knew that he wouldn't. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't afford to. Not yet. For now, he had to play pathetic. He had to pretend that he was still a puppet in the hands of the capable master. "Alright, fine," he held up his hands in surrender, grimacing inwardly when Logan nodded his approval, like Randy was a puppy who'd just learned to piss on the newspaper.

"So," Logan started, adjusting his jacket as the tension in the air began to subside. "What do you think of Lauren?"

The way his eyebrows raised nearly made Randy laugh. Lauren was sexy, no doubt, but she would be lucky if she walked back up those stairs without a shiner. Rohan was probably beatin' her ass out by the dumpster as they spoke. "Dude, what are you doin'?" he asked, forcing his anger to the back of his head. He couldn't let it show, couldn't let Logan feel it. There was nothing he could do for the time being. "I mean, if looks could kill, Rohan'd be guilty of Murder in the First right now, man." He couldn't help laughing as the memory of the dark-eyed beauty filled his mind.

Logan shifted just a bit, an innocent look of confusion on his face. "You really think she's pissed at me?" he asked, as though it had never occurred to him before. "What? Is she jealous? I have girls in here all the time?" What in the hell did Rohan have to be jealous of? He had assured her time and time again that she belonged in his inner circle. And he knew that he had never promised her that she would be the only one. She had never asked to be. Jesus, women were confusing sometimes.

While others might find Logan's obvious crush on Rohan endearing, Randy fought to keep his smile at bay. _Oh, Logan_, he thought to himself. _So that's how it's gonna be, huh? A woman shall lead to thy downfall? _Sometimes he wanted to laugh at just how easy things could be. "Dude, she's already thinkin' you're all sortsa shifty after the Hunter thing," he spoke honestly. When he'd told Rohan to play nice with Logan again, it had been expressly for a moment like this. A moment when he could use it to his utmost advantage.

"Nah," Logan shook his head and sank back in the chair as though Randy were a silly child. "We talked about that. A while back. She's fine. She's good again. She's over it," he assured his friend.

But Randy just cocked his eyebrow and pursed his lips. "You sure about that?" he asked vaguely.

Before Logan could process the possibility that Rohan had been less-than-honest with him, Taker pulled the curtain back, peeking inside. "The girls are back," he stated, waiting for Logan's nod, which he gave without hesitation.

They entered silently and Logan stood, offering each of them a place at his sides: Lauren on his right, and Rohan at his blessed left. Rohan seemed to have returned to her normal self, smiling at him, ignoring Randy, and even reminiscing about the early years in Hollywood with Lauren.

Laughing along with the group, Logan allowed his eyes to drift over each of them. Lauren was harmless. She was an innocent, easily manipulated and a minor player, at best. Rohan was leaning into his side and occasionally staring up at him with the same adoring eyes she'd always had for him. He had patched things over her with, just as he had asserted moments earlier. Besides, if she was upset with him, he would sense it. He always knew when someone was trying to fuck with him.

He sipped at his champagne and turned his attention to the man now asking Lauren a question about her last movie. Yes, Logan knew when someone was trying to fuck with him. He thought they were friends, but Randy clearly believed he could pull the proverbial wool over Logan eyes. He couldn't help chuckling to himself. Even Orton, with his high school education and multiple concussions, wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything with the most powerful man in the world, would he? Not when Logan had been nothing but good to him. Not when he had shown Orton the world as it could be. As it someday would be.

The questions continued to plague his mind as Randy cleared his throat and stood, holding out a hand to the woman at Logan's left. Rohan stood and ran her hands over her skirt, thanking Logan for the company before exiting on the arm of the man with whom she had arrived. And all became clear in Logan's mind.

He was being ridiculous. Randy wouldn't do anything so stupid as attempt to take Logan on. This wasn't about Logan at all. It was about Rohan. About her trusting him _too _much. It was about Randy believing that he had some claim over her. And no matter how much he swore he didn't care about the actress, Logan knew in that moment, that Randy was scared of losing her.

Relaxing against the couch, he pulled Lauren flush against his side and turned her face to his for a searing kiss. As she moaned against his lips, he smiled. _No worries, Orton_, he thought to himself. Lauren slipped her hand into his jacket, her fingernails pressing against the silky fabric of his shirt as he ran his hand up her bare thigh. Laying her down on the couch, he conjured an image of Rohan writhing beneath him. And even as Lauren arched at the contact of his fingers brushing over her heated center, Logan couldn't help chuckling to himself. _You can have your fuckin' title, man_, he thought, _All I ask in return is your girl_. Opening his eyes to meet Lauren's enchanted gaze, he saw not the blond beneath him, but Rohan's face twisted in abject ecstasy. _I'll get her in the end anyway. I always do._


	15. Shawn Fcking Michaels

**Trinity  
**_Chapter 15: _Shawn Fcking Michaels

* * *

There were days when Rohan was sure she would lose her mind if she had to waste anymore time backstage at a WWE event. It was the furthest thing from 'fun' for her, and she was fairly certain that her eardrums or eyeballs would start bleeding if she had to hear the fans screaming for this bullshit form of entertainment for another night.

But Randy had invited her, and he had been sure to mention that Logan was going to be bringing Lauren along for her first taste of the wrestling action. Rohan was well-aware that Randy was baiting her, using this information about Logan and Lauren to play on her new-found insecurities. And she was equally aware that she had whined one too many times about her former friend in her boyfriend's presence. He was bound to use it against her at some point. Frankly, she would have been disappointed if he hadn't.

Rolling her eyes as Lauren fawned over yet another muscle-bound moron and giggled at whatever stupid story Logan was telling her. At least Rohan could be certain she had never acted like such a fool. Not even when she had been new to this world and under Logan's 'spell'.

Because more than ever, she was convinced that's what it was. Logan held them all under some sort of spell. There was no other explanation. Lauren might have thought that she had been wrong about him before she met him, but daily Rohan found herself questioning that position. Was it that Lauren had been wrong, or that she was just now falling under the very voodoo magic that she had warned Rohan about in the first place? And if Logan was some sort of Satanic wizard, how had Rohan broken from his spell? Had she? Or was he allowing her just enough rope to hang herself? Was he letting her question just enough, to wonder just enough, before striking her down? Before taking everything she thought he was offering?

She had to take a walk. She couldn't sit by and watch Lauren's breasts spill all over Logan's arm any longer. There had to be a way to get back into his good graces because, whether she liked it or not, staying in Logan's limelight was essential to her survival. If she didn't claw her way back to his side, she was going to fall away, and she couldn't have that.

"You're Rohan, right?" a voice interrupted her thoughts as she rounded the corner.

Snapping her head up, she smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The smile was neither recognition nor pleasure. It was reflex. The first expression she made when greeted by someone who knew her name. Appearances were the most important thing in the world. If she didn't look approachable, her stock would fall. She had learned that before Logan had come along. "Yeah. Rohan McKeehan."

The man nodded and tipped his straw cowboy hat slightly. "Shawn Michaels," he introduced. "You're Randy Orton's girlfriend?"

Oh, Shawn Michaels. The man whose name she had heard almost as much as Logan's falling from Randy's lips as of late. "I am," she nodded. Sometimes she wondered how much of a lie that really was anymore. Admitting it, confessing, seemed to come so naturally. She wasn't seeing anyone else, and even if she only saw Randy publicly, he was, indeed, the closest thing to a boyfriend she had.

The expression on Shawn's face clouded, almost instantly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded his head toward her. It was as if he wanted to say something, to insert some sort of opinion, but thought better of it. In recent days, this man had transcended humanity, into some sort of vulgar legend around Rohan's world. But looking into his piercing blue eyes, she couldn't imagine anything evil or backhanded ever coming from him. At least not the way Randy described him.

"You don't approve?" she asked, finding herself somewhat amused. Nobody approved of her relationship with Randy. At least, nobody behind the scenes of his business. In his company. Among his brothers. It wasn't the relationship they didn't seem to abide, but rather her pseudo-partner that they abhorred. It wasn't hard to see that nobody liked Randy. Hell, most of the time Rohan couldn't blame them.

But Shawn just shrugged. "I see a lot of myself in him, ya know?" Shaking his head, he bit his lip as if deciding whether or not he should elaborate. "I used to be an arrogant little prick, too. Back in the day. I thought I had the world at my feet. Thought I deserved it. That I had earned it."

That pretty much summed Randy up in fifty words or less. "So there's hope for him?" Rohan teased gently, leaning her back against the concrete wall behind her. Truth be told, Shawn seemed like a nice guy. So different than the other men she'd known, both here in the company, and outside of it. There was something good about him, something that seemed to rise above the corruption she saw all around them.

"Guess that depends," Shawn shrugged.

"On?" Rohan asked, finding herself driven to take in everything that he said, hoping that some of his sheer goodness might rub off on her.

Shifting his weight from his right hip to his left, he rested his hands on his waist. "On who he turns to for help."

She didn't need further explanation. Rohan knew exactly what he was saying. If Randy turned his life around and stopped relying on Logan for help, he might stand a chance of turning out okay. Of course, she realized, that would mean sacrificing everything that was so vitally important to Randy. That's what Shawn was saying, wasn't it? That hitching himself to Logan's star was dragging Randy's reputation into the mud. But Rohan knew as well as anyone that Randy didn't care about his reputation. He cared about being on top. No matter how he got there.

"You see, Rohan," Shawn started, checking his watch before continuing, "I believe that God created us as dependent creatures. We need assistance from someone. I believe that He intended we lean on Him for what we need, to meet our needs." With a shrug, he met her eye steadily, without fear. "Some people turn the other way, to a path of their own choosing."

Before she could contemplate any further, a harried stage hand rounded the corner and motioned to Shawn with his arm. "I've been looking for you everywhere, Shawn," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Vince wants you to go over your match with Cena for the night."

Shawn simply waved and took off without another word, but Rohan couldn't help noticing that the stage hand hung around until he was sure the veteran wrestler was gone. Returning his gaze to Rohan, he grinned dopily. "Can I get you anything, Ms. McKeehan?"

He reminded her of one of the stupid PA's on her films - the ones who nearly pissed themselves to get her attention. "I'm fine, thanks," she rolled her eyes and walked past him, not really caring if he thought she was a bitch or not. Were it not for him, she would still be chatting Shawn up, and feeling somewhat at peace. For the first time in weeks, she hadn't worried at all about Logan or Randy or her own demise. For the first time, she hadn't felt the knot in her stomach. And then this little idiot had shown up to interrupt it.

"Ya know, for what it's worth, your boyfriend shoulda been in the main event tonight," he called after her, as though kissing her ass about her boyfriend would win him point. As if she gave a damn about Randy's position on the card. "Guess seniority really does mean something, huh?"

She barely heard the question as she rounded the corner, but something stuck in her head and rattled through her brain. Seniority? Is that why Shawn was in the main event? Because he had seniority over Randy? Or was it something else? Consequences. Prices. Regret. Favors. Words tumbled through her, and over her. Something didn't make sense. Something didn't add up. Seniority shouldn't matter - not in the system as she had come to know it.

Shawn had been overwrought at New Year's Revolution. She remembered clearly the way Logan had instructed Randy to keep an eye on the older man. He said that he'd received a phone call. A strange one. She had seen with her own eyes the way Shawn had pleaded with Logan before that match, and the way her mentor had assured him that he need not worry.

_"It's a go," _he had promised.

What was a go? Shawn and Hunter were friends - she had known that much from being around them. Did Shawn know that Logan was angry at Hunter for taking time off? Was that the problem? Was that why he'd been so upset? Or was it something different? Something Randy had said earlier in the week echoed in the back of her mind, bringing everything into a sharper focus than Rohan had seen for as long as she could remember. _"I'm fucked. Shawn called in a favor and I'm fucked." _If this main event was Shawn's favor . . . she stopped cold and felt a maniacal smile tweak her lips when she saw Randy making his way toward her, brows tensed in concentration.

"Randy," she reached out to grab his arm, only to find herself shaken off in his haste to make it to gorilla in time for his big entrance.

Turning, Randy's eyes met Rohan's and he could see something brewing behind them. Something was on her mind, he just didn't have time to hear it. "Find me after my match," he instructed and hurried on his way without waiting for her response.

The plan rapidly formulating in her mind, Rohan breezed past Logan and Lauren, en route to Randy's dressing room. If they spoke to her, she didn't hear it. It didn't matter. She knew what she had to do. And she knew how to get her man to help. And if they pulled it off, the world wouldn't know what hit it.


End file.
